


Secret Santa, gladiator-style

by aellisif



Series: Secret Santa Series [1]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Courting Rituals, Masturbation, Megatron has bad timing, Optimus is clueless, Other, Secret Santa, contains meta-discussion of story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24986074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aellisif/pseuds/aellisif
Summary: Optimus is fully supportive of the Secret-Santa-idea the children have come up with, even if he has no wish to be included. It would not do if one of his team or of the humans had to try and find appropriate gifts for him. No, he will observe from the sidelines and take joy in their joy.So far, so good. Someone, however, does not appear to approve of him being left out. Why else would Optimus keep finding gifts clearly meant for him all over the area?
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Series: Secret Santa Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833973
Comments: 124
Kudos: 221





	1. Gift 1

**Author's Note:**

> A short Secret-Santa-story for everyone who feels so inclined to enjoy, because you know, when it’s the end of June and the weather is scorching hot, what else does one need but a story set around Christmas time?
> 
> … alright, I needed to write something that I could finish within a few days and that did not have an incredibly convoluted and/or emotionally challenging plot/topic, or, for that matter, an extensive cast, and this was the only thing I could come up with. By the end of this week, I plan to have posted the whole story, but please feel free to leave comments in the meantime nonetheless, and thank you in advance if you do ;-)

It was the children’s idea, of course, since the custom was an Earth custom.

Optimus had asked to be left out of it; he did not want to make anyone uncomfortable by having to find presents for him, which he knew was a very difficult task. And he knew he would derive just as much enjoyment from watching his team receive little gifts as he would receiving them himself, so truly, he was fine with being excluded from the Secret-Santa-bowl of names. He would also admit, only in the privacy of his own processor, that he would struggle finding gifts for any of them except Ratchet, because Orion Pax had been notoriously unimaginative, and Optimus Prime was even more so. The things he would like to give the various members of his team were unattainable at present, like more energon, safety and peace; and as for small gifts, Optimus just did not feel confident in his ability to find the right one.

He therefore stayed on the sidelines and watched as even Agent Fowler and Nurse Darby were roped into the game, and smiled secretly at the expressions on everyone’s faces when they drew their name. Then he listened attentively as Nurse Darby explained that gifts were to be something cheap, nothing worth more than five dollars at most, that they were to be clearly labelled to make sure the gift reached the right human or bot, that they were to be left in a basket in one of the empty rooms of the base, and that there was no need to leave a gift each day.

It all sounded quite nice. Optimus liked the idea, he liked setup, he liked how this would require everyone to really think about what someone else would enjoy (that particularly applied to Miko, who he knew had drawn Jack and not Bulkhead like she had hoped; he had heard her mutter to herself about it). He just didn’t think it would be a good idea if he participated.

* * *

The first week brought few surprises in terms of gifts; the Autobots received items like a bottle of polish, brushes, sponges and other items meant for maintenance. The humans were mostly gifted Cybertronian technology in the form of human-sized datapads or communication devices with capabilities far beyond anything a human-made mobile phone could ever be expected to deliver. So far, so unimaginative, although without a doubt very useful. Optimus did advise everyone to make sure to keep their devices out of sight, but other than that, he was content to watch as Rafael, Miko and Jack experimented with their new toys. By this point, Optimus also knew, for the most part, who had drawn whom, because apparently, Ratchet was the only one who remembered that Orion Pax had never displayed particular skill in gift-giving. Everyone else saw fit to ask his advice on their charge, and Optimus suffered through a few awkward conversations concerning his team’s likely preferences. He fell back on simply describing their personalities as he saw them and expressing his hope this might be of some help.

For Nurse Darby (Bumblebee), Agent Fowler (Arcee) and Jack (Ratchet), this seemed to work. Rafael (Miko) heaved a deep sigh and continued to look troubled, and Bulkhead (Nurse Darby) needed a lot of encouragement to not simply give up, but in the end seemed to cheer up when Optimus mentioned that Nurse Darby did not seem to get much time to enjoy herself, what with working full-time and having a child to look after, and that she probably spent every shanix she earnt on Jack or necessities. He ambled off, and later on Optimus saw him searching the human internet for items humans used for relaxation.

The gifts given at the end of the first week were already a bit more personal. June received a set of differently coloured and quite beautiful crystals that she was rather enchanted by (Optimus somewhat doubted they really had the mystical relaxing powers some internet pages stated they did, but even if they didn’t, they looked pretty), Ratchet was fascinated as well as disgusted with the datadisk containing a history of human medicine, and Bumblebee (“He is still very young by our standards,” Optimus had told June Darby, with that familiar sense of guilt at Bumblebee getting drawn into this war) was very taken with the instructions and the chalk, and for the next Earth hour or so, the base shook with a bunch of Autobots hopping on one pede and learning to play hopscotch. The children, never backing down from a challenge, promptly introduced a variation of the game wherein every bot/child-pair had to hop at the same time, with the pair losing if the impact of hopping bot made the human stumble.

It was very entertaining to watch. It was also, unfortunately, very _loud,_ so when there was no indication that any of the players intended to stop, Optimus went for a drive along his favourite route, a quiet stretch of road hardly ever used even by human vehicles a little into the mountains.

That was were he found the cube of energon marked with his designation.

* * *

Now, while Optimus Prime by default of carrying the Matrix was more inclined to believe in miracles, this particular kind of miracle was a bit too mundane to count. It was also highly suspicious. Cubes of energon with bots’ designations on them did not, in Optimus’ extensive experience, simply pop up out of nowhere, and certainly not along a particular bot’s favourite driving route.

Either it had been left by someone in his team, or the Decepticons knew where he was likely to drive and had, for unfathomable reasons, decided to leave him a cube.

Optimus was not sure which option he preferred. He would certainly not decline an extra cube, but he did not want one of his team to share their ration with him, especially since his Matrix-enhanced frame was much more efficient than any of theirs. And if it had been left by Decepticons, well …

He transformed and approached with all due caution. The cube sat in a small depression and looked as inconspicuous as a cube filled with blue-glowing energon could look in an Earth environment. The glyphs making up Optimus’ full designation and title were pristine and clearly not written by servo, which did not help in narrowing down potential suspects.

Optimus did what any sensible bot would do, found a stick (something that _looked_ like a stick in his servos, at least) and poked the cube.

The cube, rather predictably, did not react.

Optimus poked a little harder.

The force moved the cube around a little, leaving tracks in the sand underneath it. Other than that, nothing happened.

Optimus circled around the cube and engaged all scanners and sensors he could think of.

The cube remained a cube of energon.

After some more prodding and deliberating, Optimus reached the conclusion that the cube was not booby-trapped and probably safe to pick up, which he proceeded to do only to stare at it in indecision. If it had been left by one (or possibly all) of his Autobots, it would be incredibly impolite to return to base and test its contents for any traces of poison. If it had been left by Decepticons (although that begged the question of why they would do that), not testing its contents before taking even the tiniest sip would be downright foolish. While there were some who stated that Optimus was too trusting for his own good (interestingly enough one of the few things Ratchet and Megatron fully agreed on), he was not stupid.

In the end, he subspaced the cube and decided to commandeer Ratchet’s equipment once the medbay was empty to find out what the mysterious cube contained. That way he would avoid questions and hurting anyone’s feelings, and would know if the energon was safe to consume.


	2. Gift 2

The energon was not only safe to consume, it was high-grade.

Optimus was very grateful. He was also just a liiittle bit overcharged. He found he cared very little about that as he let himself fall backwards to stare at the dark, star-dotted sky stretching above him, relishing in the way the charge made his cables relax and hum at the same time. How long had it been that he had even known there was high-grade around? A millennium at least, he thought. It was not something the Autobots had been particularly intent on producing since the war started, although the Decepticons, apparently, had kept a few distilleries going for quite a long time.

Right now, not even the thought that this might be a Decepticon gift disturbed Optimus. He was alone, had made sure to drive far away so none of his team was likely to disturb him, and then proceeded to consume the high-grade in slow, measured sips. He had a cube of high-grade, which he did not plan on consuming wholly tonight, but which still offered him some much-needed opportunity to relax. And there was no-one around who expected him to be a Prime right at this moment.

In other words, he could sip his high-grade, stare at the stars and maybe, perchance, even indulge in some self-service. Which wasn’t something he could do back at the base, because the walls were made to human standards and thus definitely not built to dampen the noises Cybertronians made while interfacing or pleasuring themselves. Optimus should know, he had heard Bumblebee and Ratchet in their respective habsuites to both sides of his one too many times to maintain any illusions about what they were up to in their spare time. And he had firmly determined that he was not going to embarrass Team Prime by providing them with a live rendition of what he himself sounded like during overload. Ratchet and Bumblebee were clearly not aware that even their muffled sounds could be heard in the habsuite in the middle, and Optimus would rather deactivate himself than inform them of it, so there was no way he was going to accidentally clue them in by self-servicing in his berth.

Of course, that robbed him of pretty much any and all opportunities for this kind of relief, and while it was certainly not a high price to pay, it got uncomfortable at times to try and keep a lid on his rising charge, or to find alternative ways to burn it off. He wasn’t enough of a thrill-seeker either to simply go on a drive, find a quiet spot and get down to business there, but he had figured that with the help of a little high-grade, he might be able to lower his inhibitions just enough to not worry too much about potential interruptions.

He had to admit that the simple thought had already thrilled him when he first came upon it at the base, and he had therefore chosen his current location with great care. The timing was chosen equally carefully; there had been a gift for almost everyone in the basket today and Optimus knew that attentions would be focused on those.

In other words, he had time, he had opportunity and he had help, so this was promising to be a very pleasant evening.

So logically, this was when he suddenly picked up a location beacon signal. Faint and weak and probably quite a bit away, but a location beacon nonetheless.

Groaning, Optimus sat back up and subspaced the cube, then silently debated notifying the base or even asking for backup. In the end, though, and maybe that decision was influenced by the high-grade coursing through his systems, he settled on checking the signal by himself. Smart, this decision was probably not, but Optimus really had no particular desire for any of the others to find him drinking, alone and out in the wilderness.

He followed the signal for the better part of an Earth hour until he arrived at a little cave. With darkness blanketing his surroundings, Optimus had turned his infrared sensors to maximum power, but the only heat signs he saw were local animals, most of whom scurried out of his path. The cave itself was too small for any Cybertronian to fit inside, except maybe Arcee in vehicle mode, so it was unlikely either that someone would jump him from inside.

Optimus still took the time to circle the cave before he finally approached, the signal now clear and strong. He had to wonder what it was, though; another artefact? The signal was too weak to be clearly received unless one happened to be in the vicinity anyway, and he had still not decoded all coordinates, so there was a chance he had stumbled upon another artefact by pure chance.

He carefully lowered himself after looking about him one last time, and looked into the hole.

The locator beacon was there alright. There was no ancient relic, though. Instead there was a folded-up piece of tarp of substantial quantity, on top of which the beacon lay.

Optimus stared at it for a few moments before he engaged scanners and sensors much like he had done with the high-grade, and regretted that he hadn’t thought to pick up another stick.

The tarp remained a tarp even after several scans, so Optimus decided to risk it and extract it from the cave. It unfolded as he did so, almost panicking him for a moment, and then he knelt and held one of the most beautiful pieces of Cybertronian craftsmanship he had ever seen. Because the tarp was a tarp alright, but on the inside there was a woven mesh lining that glittered and glinted in the light of his optics. It was one of those tarp coverings designed to be used outside, with the tarp keeping dampness away while the mesh lining provided additional warmth and comfort to the bot wrapped up in it. Constellations made up the pattern of the woven mesh, and it was breathtakingly beautiful even judging by what little he could see.

Optimus stared at it some more, then looked around futilely. This tarp had not been in that cave for very long, it did not take a genius to figure that out. It had to have been left here very recently; the only questions were who and why.

Optimus reached for the locator beacon in the hope that it might provide some clue, and found his designation and title etched into its side when he picked it up, with the same impersonal glyphs that the cube also carried.

Befuddled, and not just because of the high-grade he had consumed, Optimus reset his optics several times at what appeared to be his second gift. It was probably fair to conclude at this stage that Decepticons had nothing to do with this gift, because why would a Decepticon give him a tarp like this? On the other servo, which Autobot would give away a precious item like this? Who even still _owned_ something like this, after all this time?

He shook his helm in bewilderment, but regained his pedes and stood for another moment, staring down at the tarp. Then he carefully, gently folded it back up and tucked it away into his subspace before he sent a last glance around with every scanner he owned, and then trekked back to the little plateau where he had originally been. Halfway there, Ratchet pinged him, asking for his whereabouts and informing him gruffly that there was nothing pressing back at the base to attend to; that, in fact, Optimus might want to stay away a little longer unless he wished to be introduced to the specifics of Chinese jump rope. After being informed that Chinese jump rope included at least as much noise being produced as hopscotch, the decision was easily made. Optimus continued his trek to his chosen plateau, and Ratchet set about doing damage control back at the base.

Arriving back at his spot, Optimus contemplated the ground for a moment. Then he found the tarp in his subspace, laid it out carefully, found the high-grade and settled down on his new blanket to keep watching the stars. Self-service, he decided, was not an option any longer, not on his new tarp; he didn’t want to dirty the woven mesh with his lubricants. Instead he found the corners of the tarp and wrapped himself in it, enjoying the additional warmth it provided.

He could really do with more of this, some high-grade, a nice warm blanket and a starry sky above.


	3. Gift 3

Upon returning to base after several more undisturbed hours of stargazing, Optimus discovered two things:

1) the blanket’s pattern depicted constellations found in the Orion Nebula;

2) Chinese jump rope was even _louder_ than hopscotch, because the elastic rope involved provided bots with plenty of opportunities to entangle themselves in it and crash to the floor.

Optimus refrained from sending June Darby a reproachful glance and hoped that the Decepticons would not hit upon the idea of using seismographs to track down their adversaries. He did approve of the amount of laughter and giggling the new game elicited, though, even from Arcee and Ratchet (although he, like Optimus, adamantly refused to join). He also highly approved of his new tarp, which he had exchanged his old mesh covering on his berth for. It was warm, it was nice, it was very comforting to crawl underneath at night, and it inexplicably made him feel better. The only remaining discomfort stemmed from his ignorance of his mysterious benefactor’s identity. The tarp was clearly new, had been used only a few times, if at all, so he was sure he wasn’t stealing some other bot’s covering; nonetheless Optimus felt a little ashamed. The high-grade might have amounted to the limit of five dollars, but the tarp was decidedly way above that, and he could not help feeling guilty that someone would spend that many shanix on him. Although there was the distinct possibility that this was a group effort by all of Team Prime, because he had opted out of the Secret Santa. He would not put it beyond them, and that thought brightened his spark.

Nevertheless, they need not have done this. And Optimus did not even get to express his appreciation for his gifts, because unlike the rest of them, his were not distributed from the gift basket in the afternoons, when everyone had arrived at the base.

He wondered whether he should broach the subject, but before he could reach a decision, his third present turned up in the same spot where he had found the energon cube.

Optimus screeched to a halt upon beholding the crate boasting his designation and title, actually more wary this time than the last. It was difficult to hide explosives in an energon cube, but in a crate?

To his alarm, when he poked the crate with another quickly procured stick (humans might justifiably have called it a thick branch, or even a small tree), the contents of the crate moved around audibly. Optimus froze, his mask snapping closed, but after a moment, the noise settled.

It resumed when he poked the crate again, and then, to his eternal mortification, the crate simply _fell apart,_ spilling its contents on the ground.

They were not explosives. The problem was, Optimus wasn’t too sure _what_ they were, either. Other than small figurines of different Cybertronian frametypes. Lightweight frames like Arcee, heavier frames like Ratchet, some seekers and warframes like himself. And drones, and two mining frames. Even more confusingly, they were either black or white, sporting none of the colourful paint most Cybertronians had.

Optimus left his cover and knelt down beside the assembly of approximately digit-sized figures. They had been moulded with loving attention to detail, taking into account every part that distinguished the various frametypes. As a matter of fact, they were quite beautiful.

He stared at them and then looked around, trying to find any trace of who might have left the crate here, or an explanation for what the little figures meant. The landscape was not forthcoming, though, and he received nothing but a slight rustle of wind touching the sand.

Optimus carefully picked the pieces up and then realised that the crate, upon falling apart, had covered two more items. One was, one again, a piece of tarp, and the second was a satchel of mesh big enough to hold all of the small figures. He carefully piled them in there and then unfolded the tarp only to find that it was covered in black and white squares.

This was – Optimus was at a loss for words. What _was_ this? He had never, ever seen anything the like, and he was frankly at a loss what to do with this. Of course, he could put the little figures on the shelves in his habsuite, and they would certainly make nice (if a bit monochrome) decorations, but the tarp? Was he supposed to hang it on the walls, like he had seen in some illustrations of human habitations? Or no, it went on the floor, did it not?

Alright, Optimus could admit to needing help when he did. He opened a comm channel while he carefully stored all items in his subspace.

_“Prime? What’s the matter?”_

“Agent Fowler,” Optimus said, glad he had picked up. “Nothing pressing, but I have a riddle I could use your assistance with.”

 _“A riddle?”_ He sounded confused. _“Sure, I’ll do my best. What is it?”_

Optimus transformed and rolled back to the road. “I am afraid I will have to show you. Are you free to meet me at the canyon two miles off the base? I will transmit the coordinates.”

 _“Uh, sure,”_ Agent Fowler replied. _“Can do, Prime. What’s your ETA?”_

Optimus quickly checked his internal chronometer. “One hour seven minutes Earth time.”

Agent Fowler coughed, which Optimus had learnt was often a sign of amusement in humans. _“I’ll meet you there.”_

* * *

Agent Fowler was already waiting in the canyon when Optimus arrived and looking intrigued. “So, what is it you wanna show me, Prime?” he said after Optimus had transformed back into root mode, and Optimus reached into his subspace and found the satchel and the tarp. Agent Fowler eyed them curiously and with some trepidation – understandably, since the satchel could probably flatten him. Optimus set it to the ground and took the tarp.

“I need your help with finding out what these are,” he said, then shook out the tarp and let it flatten out against the ground with the painted side pointing up. Agent Fowler coughed a little, presumably because of the sand Optimus had inadvertently thrown up, and then did that human resetting-of-optics thing Optimus was told was called “blinking”.

“Uh …”

“These came with it,” Optimus explained, emptying the satchel’s contents onto the tarp. “I confess to being unable to make sense of what they are.”

Agent Fowler blinked again, first at the tarp and the figures, then at Optimus, and he thought he could detect disbelief in his gaze. “You don’t know what they are?”

Optimus shook his helm. “I have never seen anything the like.”

Agent Fowler considered this, then carefully stepped onto the tarp and trudged to the small heap of figures. They reached up to his chest, but he was able to wrangle one from the pile, which he then proceeded to frown at. “What is that?”

Optimus considered the figure. “It is a drone. A non-sentient mechanism from Cybertron, usually programmed to undertake tasks like cleaning or waste disposal.”

"Huh,” Fowler said, then gestured to the pile. “Mind helping me sort these out? White goes with white, black with black.”

Optimus obliged and, following Agent Fowler’s example, put them into the black and white squares on one side of the tarp. When they were done, Fowler stood there contemplating the black figures for a moment, then did the same to the white ones. Finally he looked up at Optimus. “Well, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say this is a chess set made of Cybertronian lookalikes.”

“A chess set?”

Agent Fowler shrugged. “It’s called the Game of Kings. A strategy game dating back to, oh, probably the Middle Ages or summin’. Very popular with lots of people, we even have a world championship for it.” He snorted a little. “And an ABBA-musical.”

Optimus decided not to ask about the latter part (he had been introduced to the concept of ‘musicals’ at some point and found he did not much enjoy the experience) and focused on the first bit of information. “So this is a human game?”

“Yeah. I counted, and the different pieces match up. Look, there are eight of those drones in each set.” He pointed, then moved onto the figures looking like Eradicons. “Two of these, these and these.” He pointed to the medics and warframes. “And one of these each.” This time, he tapped the miner and the two-wheeler. “That makes for a full set of chess pieces. Eight pawns, two rooks, knights and bishops, one king and queen. Plus, the colours are kinda dead give-away. And the tarp.”

Optimus looked down at the figures on the tarp and considered this new piece of information. Agent Fowler looked around himself. “Prime, not that I wanna pry or anything, but where’d you get this from?”

“I found them in a crate along my favourite driving route,” Optimus replied truthfully and Agent Fowler squinted at him.

“Sorry?”

“I do not know who gave them to me,” Optimus clarified. “They were in a crate marked with my designation and left in a little depression by the roadside of my favourite driving route.”

“Riiight …” Agent Fowler said, blinking once more. “And you, uh, have no idea who might have left them?”

Optimus shook his helm. “I suspect it might have something to do with the Secret Santa game you and the children are engaging in.”

Agent Fowler coughed again. “It’s not a game, more like a custom, but yeah, I can see why these wouldn’t be left in the gift basket.” He eyed the miner standing next to him. “Would be a tight fit.”

“I have to confess to some confusion, though, since I explicitly stated I would not be participating,” Optimus said, still taking in his latest gift. Agent Fowler looked back up at him and grinned.

“Well, I don’t know about any conspiracies concerning you and Secret-Santa-gifts, but all the same, this is a pretty neat present. Wanna give it a try? I’m not a great player, but I can teach you the ground rules.”

As a matter of fact, Optimus was quite tempted to do just that. And why not? After all, this ‘chess set’ had been given to him to use.

He knelt down beside the tarp. “If you would be so kind, Agent Fowler.”

The human grinned and rubbed his hands. “Right. First things first, we need to figure out which of these’ll be which gaming piece …”


	4. Gift 4

Optimus _loved_ chess. It was, of course, not comparable to the strategy simulations Cybertronians ran, but it was fascinating and intriguing nonetheless, and when he returned back to base after having played several games against Agent Fowler, he kept running a background search on the internet for chess-related information while continuing to work on the Iacon database. The logical rules of the human game appealed to him, and the videos of various chess competitions proved a nice exercise for his probability algorithms.

Yes, Optimus was _very_ pleased with this particular gift, almost more than with the blanket. Since he still had no clue which of his team might be his mysterious benefactor, he refrained from showing his new acquisition around (although he would have liked to play a few rounds against Arcee; she was a good tactician), instead resolving to acquire more clues before he acted.

In the meantime, he played against Fowler, who seemed delighted with having a partner, although he lost two out of three games and had to work quite a bit to shuffle his pieces across the tarp. He would not let Optimus move them for him, though, insisting that this was a good exercise.

On their fourth secret play-date (Agent Fowler’s expression, not Optimus’), June Darby discovered them, having spotted Agent Fowler’s vehicle off the roadside, and stayed to watch them finish their match. She, too, professed complete ignorance of any schemes involving Optimus and presents, but seemed delighted that someone was still giving Optimus things.

She also apologised to Optimus for giving Bumblebee children’s games producing so much noise, and informed him that her next gift was designed to reduce the noise, as it was supposed to be a stealth game. At first, Optimus was a tad horrified at the concept of ‘Wink Murder’, but calmed down after she and Agent Fowler had quickly assured him that no participant actually ended up deactivated.

“Humans truly have an astonishing number of games at their disposal,” Optimus remarked as they all made their way back to the base, only to hear both humans laugh through the connection their Cybertronian tech was easily able to establish. “Yes well, our children easily get bored,” June Darby said, amused, her voice crystal clear. “You would get creative, too, if you had to put up with what human parents have to endure during a two-hour-drive.”

Optimus thought of enduring a two-hour-drive with Miko sat inside him and shuddered. “I can imagine.”

They entered the base as a convoy only to be greeted by Ratchet’s scowl combined with crossed arms. Optimus quickly transformed back, already about to ask why Ratchet hadn’t commed him about whichever emergency required his presence, but was cut off by Ratchet sweeping a servo towards a stack of paint cans carrying Optimus’ designation.

“Care to explain?” Ratchet inquired icily and Optimus reset his optics.

“I – am not sure what to explain?”

June Darby and Agent Fowler, having exited their cars, drifted closer. “Oh, are those more presents for you, Optimus?” June Darby asked and Ratchet immediately snapped, “ _More?”_

Optimus looked up from his scrutiny of the paint cans (his colours, down to the particular shade, and in sufficient quantity for a complete new coat) and hunched a little guiltily. “I do not know who they come from, Ratchet.”

Ratchet reset his optics, looked back at the paint cans and huffed out a vent. “Well, I don’t know either. I picked up a locator beacon signal on my patrol and followed them to this stack.”

Optimus felt some slight disappointment at having been deprived of the joy of discovering his gift himself, but quickly consoled himself that it was still a nice and thoughtful surprise. “Do you think there is anything wrong with them?”

“Wrong? No,” Ratchet said, eyeing the cans again. “But I would like to know how any of us managed to get their servos on that much proper Cybertronian paint in your exact colours. And then make them get some for the rest of us as well. We could all use a nice buff and polish.” He huffed again, annoyed this time. “But as things stand, when do you want to have your repaint?”

Optimus recoiled a little. “That is not necessary, Ratchet, I assure you -”

Ratchet impatiently waved a servo. “Come on, Optimus, now the paint’s here, you might as well put it to good use. It’s not like any of us could use it.”

June Darby piped up from where she stood, “I think that’s a great idea, Optimus! Getting a new haircut or just some beauty treatment is a great way to relax!”

Optimus refrained from informing her that getting a new coat of paint would require the old paint being sanded off of his frame (which, admittedly, was not as uncomfortable as it would have been for a human being, but could tickle quite excruciatingly), thought about it and then gave a little nod.

“Alright, old friend,” he said. “We can do it tonight after the children have left and the first shift is on patrol.”

* * *

The new paint was well-received, to Optimus’ mortification not only by his own team, but by Megatron’s minions and Megatron himself as well.

“My, my, Optimus, dressed to impress?” Megatron drawled at him while they were trading punches in yet another energon mine, and Optimus had to reset his optics at the unexpected human idiom.

“I do not expect to impress anyone,” he replied, evading another punch, already saying farewell to his new, scratch-free paint with some regret. Although Megatron didn’t seem to be in the mood for a brutal fight; he was mostly keeping Optimus at bay by trying to corner him so the Vehicons could escape with the energon and mining equipment. And he was talking without spouting threats of deactivation and dismemberment, which was also a good indication that this was more like friendly sparring than a proper fight.

Not that ‘friendly sparring’ was really something the two of them partook in, but this was as close as it would ever get. Optimus’ paint therefore stood a chance of surviving this without any deep scratches.

Megatron huffed a vent. “By the Allspark, Optimus, don’t you ever just use an opening for a joke? You could at least have said, ‘if I thought it would impress you, I’d consider wearing one’.”

Optimus was so baffled he almost missed another punch, but quickly dropping down to a knee and then whirling out of range took care of that.

“Excuse me?”

Megatron growled at him. “You used to have a sense of humour, once upon a time.”

Once upon a time he had been a little archivist with much fewer cares in the world. It was easier to make jokes when one wasn’t afraid for the sparks of everyone around them at the same time.

Optimus chose not to reply to that, because Megatron often became vicious whenever their shared history was mentioned. Optimus had never quite figured out why, unless it was because Megatron was still angry at his interference at the Council meeting. Half the time, it was almost like he could not bear to hear Optimus comment on his own functioning as Orion Pax, which confused Optimus to no end. It was, after all, his own past, why did Megatron take exception to him commenting on it? As a matter of fact, this was the first time that Megatron had ever even referenced it of his own volition, in a fight that was as far from vicious as fighting against Megatron ever got.

To say this was confusing Optimus would have been an understatement. Even more so because now, it was his silence that appeared to displease his enemy. The red optics narrowed and he spat out, “Do you need me to provide you with a definition of that, Optimus, or is the concept of humour so far below your Primely notice that even that would not help?”

As calmly as he could while responding to Megatron’s blows, Optimus replied, “If I did, I would not classify you making use of human idioms as irony rather than humour.”

Megatron looked surprised for a moment, since Optimus also had a habit to remain mostly silent during their battles, and then he smirked. “Would you now? In that case, shall we return to our true language, and shall I ask you for which parade you got painted?”

‘Painted to parade’ was indeed the closest Cybertronian equivalent to ‘dressed to impress’, but had a much more salacious connotation. Optimus almost sputtered, then recovered and shot back, “None that you’ll be invited to!”

Megatron’s engine rumbled and he smirked. “We’ll see about that, Optimus!”

And with that, he transformed and took off before Optimus could process his words.

Then he picked up on the ominous rumbling sound of the mine that was no doubt the cause for Megatron’s retreat, and raced back to their groundbridge.

Salacious comments from Megatron were, after all, no reason to let a cave-in return his paint to the pitiful state it had been in before. That was no way to show his gratitude to whoever had gone to the effort to procure some for him.


	5. Gift 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning for weird Cybertronian anatomy/design descriptions.

Ratchet had a few choice words for Megatron upon beholding the scratches in Optimus’ brand-new paint, but had armed himself for precisely this eventuality (and with the help of Agent Fowler) with several human-sized gadgets to get rid of them. The only problem was that of course, the gadgets were far too small for Ratchet or really, any of them to handle.

The problem was solved (to Optimus’ initial alarm) by Jack, Miko and Agent Fowler eagerly volunteering for the task, and Optimus, who could not find it in himself to openly voice opposition to Miko being anywhere near his new paint whilst armed with an electrical tool, soon found himself lying prone on the medbay berth while barefooted humans walked across his plating and buffed out every scratch. To Optimus’ unvoiced, but great surprise, Miko was careful and diligent, in fact almost more so than Agent Fowler. All things considered, though, he had no cause to complain when he looked at himself through a live-feed from Ratchet’s optics afterwards. (Lacking any mirrors of an appropriate size, live-feeds from someone else’s optics were the only real option. Not that Optimus made use of that often.)

Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee, who naturally had stayed around to watch proceedings, were all smiling happily, which Optimus did not quite understand until Arcee said, “Optimus, I know this sounds weird, but it really is so good to see you looking properly polished again!”

Optimus found himself smiling back, although with much more restraint as his spark spun with happiness. “Thank you, Arcee.”

“Right, Jack, let’s get you home!” she said, giving him a last smile, and Jack hurried to put his shoes back on. Miko gave Optimus a thumbs-up.

“Yeah, you’re looking really good, Optimus! All Christmassy, actually!”

Optimus looked down at himself and had to admit that yes, with his natural colouring and the sparkling shine of the paint, he did look rather reminiscent of some of the Christmas decorations he had seen around. Well, he did not mind. After all, they were guests on this planet, it could not hurt to observe local customs, and Christmas seemed to be a very important one. As long as no-one expected him to let them dress him in the multi-coloured light strings. He would put his pede down at that.

As everyone else left to take the children home, Optimus found himself considering going on a little drive himself. Ratchet, perhaps sensing his desire for some time alone after this much interaction and being the centre of attention from everyone, smiled. “I’ll keep an optic on things,” he said and Optimus nodded gratefully, then left the base as well. Taking the opposite direction to the others, he slowly ambled along the road, taking his time and enjoying the silence of the desert, then wondered whether he should have brought his tarp so he could go stargazing again. For some moments, he debated turning back and fetching it, until he became aware of a strange shadow flitting over the road every now and then.

Optimus tensed and turned on his infrared sensors. Immediately, his HUD lit up with a heat scan of his surroundings, mostly small dots indicating desert animals coming out to hunt in the dark. The strange shadow, however, did not show up.

Laserbeak.

Optimus was almost tempted to transform and scare Soundwave’s little Deployer off, but although he had never admitted it out loud, he had always had a soft spot for Soundwave and his Mini-Cons. He knew Soundwave had chosen to pair with them out of convenience for the most part, but he also did remember the times when Soundwave had had to protect them against other, stronger gladiators. He knew Soundwave cared for them, in his own strange way, much like he cared for Megatron.

And he knew that Soundwave had once also cared for Orion Pax. They had fought against each other over the course of the war, but very rarely, and Optimus could not help but wonder if Soundwave would actually disobey Megatron’s orders if he was ever ordered to deactivate Optimus. Then again, Soundwave had always been the strongest supporter of the Decepticon Cause in itself and Megatron as its leader in particular. So he probably would.

Optimus let an ex-vent escape through his smokestacks and applied himself to distracting Laserbeak from their base. He would make it look like he was on patrol and then simply lose Laserbeak at some point.

With that thought in mind, he took the next exit and headed back to Jasper. He would have a better chance of shaking Laserbeak off in the town, since he would have to make sure he wasn’t spotted either, and while Optimus was a big truck, the humans had built a number of convenient spaces where even he could hide until Laserbeak gave up.

Making sure he always knew where Laserbeak was, Optimus followed the road, encountering several human cars now that he was nearing human habitation. And then, barely five miles outside of Jasper, he suddenly came across June Darby and Agent Fowler.

Of course, transforming here was out of the question, there were simply too many other humans in cars around, even if they passed by in infrequent intervals. So he simply drove to the side and parked behind June Darby’s car, the situation immediately clear to him. He nevertheless called Agent Fowler on his mobile phone (not wanting to divulge to Laserbeak that the humans now had Cybertronian communication devices) even as he rolled further into the dirt beside the road to provide better lighting for his endeavours to attach June Darby’s car to his.

“Optimus,” June Darby answered, smiling at him. “That’s a surprise. Are you out on patrol?”

“I am,” he said, which was, well, more or less true. “And your car has broken down?”

She sighed into the phone. “I should really buy a new one already, especially since Jack is almost ready to start driving lessons, but I haven’t been able to save up the money yet.”

Optimus silently fought with himself, then decided that he could not risk exposing June and Jack’s home to Laserbeak. “If I can assist you in any way -”

“I think we’re good,” she said, smiling. “William’s almost done hooking my car up, and with the extra lighting, we should be fine.”

“I see,” Optimus replied, scanning the area again for a sign of his shadow. He could not spot him immediately, which was slightly worrying. Perhaps Optimus should get moving again, if only so the humans would not get caught in any altercation that might take place.

He was about to say as much when he suddenly picked up another signal at the furthest corner of his range. A locator beacon signal.

That – complicated matters. Optimus rocked on his wheels for a few moments in indecision, then made his call. “Nurse Darby, Agent Fowler, would you mind if I quickly went and checked on something?”

Agent Fowler straightened, looking concerned. “Anything we should be worried about?”

“I do not believe so,” Optimus replied, already calculating the fastest route to his target based on terrain. “You will have to drive very slowly though when towing, will you not?”

“Yes, this’ll take quite some time,” June Darby confirmed. “I’m glad Arcee’s home with Jack, I hate making him a latchkey kid.”

“Please, start driving when you are ready. If everything goes well, I will catch up with you, but if not, I would rather you were safely on your way,” Optimus said and waited for confirmation before he took off into the desert beside the road. With the darkness protecting him from human eyes, he transformed once he reached the rock formation where the signal was coming from. Carefully creeping closer, he took several scans of his surroundings before he finally dared to step up to what could only be described as a number of rocks haphazardly stacked atop each other. For a moment, Optimus wondered whether they had been arranged like this by humans, but quickly cut that thread off when he spotted the crate sitting half-hidden behind the rocks.

One quick glance confirmed that it, too, was marked with his designation. Optimus ex-vented audibly, wondering how he was ever going to find out who his Secret Santa was at this rate. None of his team had shown any signs of knowing anything when he suddenly sported his new paint, and they hadn’t asked questions either. Optimus was uncertain why; surely they did not think he had carried around a number of Cybertronian paint cans all this time in his subspace? Or were they assuming that Ratchet had used human paint? In any case, all of them had passed along this road earlier, so any of them could have left this crate here, including Ratchet if he had groundbridged out.

With much less hesitation than the last few times, Optimus stashed the crate in his subspace after a few scans, which only revealed to him that its contents were made of metal much like the chess pieces.

Then he permitted himself a long look at his surroundings, hoping to find Laserbeak, but apparently he had disappeared for good.

Optimus transformed back and returned to the road, pinging June Darby and Agent Fowler on their Cybertronian communicators. “It was another gift,” he said before they could ask, then added, “Have you noticed any suspicious shadows flitting about?”

Both of them answered in the negative, and then June Darby asked brightly, “So what was it this time?”

Optimus almost smiled at her enthusiasm; it truly did his spark good how these little acts of kindness had cheered Jack’s mother up, and how quietly proud Bulkhead was of himself when she openly admired yet another of his gifts. The set of crystals had been followed by a beautiful desert flower that Optimus had little doubt Miko had helped Bulkhead dig out somewhere (and which probably was protected, but again, he hadn’t had the spark to say anything), then a datadisk with music considered relaxing by many humans, and then a little footstool Optimus had learnt was used to put up one’s feet after a long day, made of different types of metal gleaming in soothing shades of blue (which, apparently, was a relaxing colour). Optimus wasn’t quite sure if it was the presents in themselves that made June Darby happy, or if it was the fact that something was putting effort into pleasing her, but whichever it was, it made her smile. Which in turn had a beneficial effect on Jack’s mood as well; he actually seemed to care much more about his mother’s joy than his own, although Miko was trying hard to find gifts he might like. (So far, his favourite appeared to be a rather accurate drawing of him and Arcee. He had smiled and thanked his Secret Santa for the stickers meant to decorate his helmet and motorcycle-shaped tiny cakes as well, but to Optimus, it was obvious that Miko still hadn’t found quite the right gift for him. Admittedly, Jack was probably almost as hard as Optimus himself; he was such an unassuming young human, so serious for his age, it was hard to imagine him asking for anything.)

In any case, Optimus was enjoying everyone else’s joy, but June Darby’s was particularly gratifying. “I have not had a look inside the crate yet.”

She made a funny little sound Optimus thought was called ‘squealing’. “Oh, would you mind unpacking it in front of us? Please? I would like to see it!”

“Gladly,” he replied. “Although we will have to stop for that. I cannot transform inside Jasper.” And, should Laserbeak still be around, was not going to risk exposing them.

“I know a place,” Agent Fowler said. “There’s that old factory right ahead where we’re going, with the big warehouse? Should be there in ten minutes or so. The lock on the door’s broken, some kids got into there a while ago, heard it on the police frequency, so we can get inside.”

Technically, this was probably illegal, but since it was Agent Fowler’s suggestion, Optimus agreed and then drove ahead, still keeping an optic out for Laserbeak, to make sure they would be undisturbed.

Having ascertained that no human was sneaking around the abandoned warehouse on a Tuesday evening, Optimus headed back and picked up the humans from where they had parked their cars (driving to the warehouse with one vehicle being towed would likely garner attention, and also divert them from the straight route to June Darby’s home). Once inside the dark warehouse, Optimus transformed and turned on every single one of his lights to provide enough visibility for human eyes. June Darby was smiling brightly in anticipation, Agent Fowler looked intrigued as Optimus retrieved the crate from subspace. “That like the other ones?” he asked and Optimus nodded. He nodded thoughtfully as well. “Yeah, wood, not great for taking fingerprints. What about handwriting?”

“The glyphs are not etched by servo,” Optimus replied and placed the rectangular crate on the floor. “Very few of us actually write by servo, as a matter of fact. Many cannot, it is simply not required. We can transfer data in other ways much more easily. Writing in the human way is an activity mainly exercised by bots of high social standing.” And one particular gladiator, who had always insisted that actually writing down his speeches helped him clarify his thoughts.

“Well, go on, open it up,” June Darby urged and Optimus smiled again and found the latch that kept the crate closed, then took off the lid. The four sides fell to the ground with a thump and revealed -

\- revealed -

Primus, _no!_

“Uh. Prime? What is that?” Agent Fowler said while Optimus still stared in utter shock at the _interface aid_ that had been hidden inside the box and was now displayed in all its upstanding glory to two _humans._

June Darby made a choking sound. “Uhm, William? I think I have a pretty good idea what this might be …”

Agent Fowler’s eyes went wide and Optimus desperately wished he had something to throw over the (generously proportioned, beautifully decorated) spike replica. He could simply grab it and hide it in his servos (they should be just big enough), but what impression would that make? If he went ahead and simply cuddled an interface toy to his chestplates?

“I -” he said, his words mangled with static. “I do apologise. I did not expect this.”

June Darby, to his surprise, snorted with laughter. “I think very few people would, Optimus. This isn’t exactly something you usually give as Secret-Santa-gift,” she said, then elbowed Agent Fowler. “William, stop looking so much like a deer in the headlights. I’m sure it’s perfectly average-sized for a Cybertronian.”

Optimus groaned, wondering if he had ever felt as mortified as now in all his functioning. June Darby stepped closer to him and patted his leg, probably trying to comfort him. “Optimus, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Humans have the same kind of sex toys. I have four in different sizes.”

Agent Fowler looked like he didn’t know whether he wanted to run or deactivate himself on the spot, but the admission and the matter-of-fact tone in which it was delivered did make Optimus feel better. “You do?”

She grinned wryly. “I’m a single mother, I haven’t dated in ages, my husband left when Jack was barely three years old, and I’m only thirty-six. Of course I have vibrators. Nothing like a good orgasm to help you come down and sleep when your five-year-old has been driving you up the walls all day long.”

Optimus had trouble imagining Jack driving anyone up the walls, but he sympathised with the sentiment in general. “We call it ‘overload’,” he said and her grin broadened.

“Makes sense to me. So, does this one have any fancy features?”

Optimus eyed the spike replica. “I cannot say without taking a closer look.”

She gestured. “Well then, go ahead, it’s yours after all.”

Well, when encouraged like that … Optimus reached out and lifted the toy, weighing it in his servo. A good, nice weight and not too big for his valve. Also, a number of almost invisible connector clusters meant to deliver current to the corresponding valve connector clusters. Yes, this definitely had special features. He quickly scanned its exterior and found three buttons at the base, pressing one experimentally. The toy promptly started vibrating in his servo. June Darby brightened. “Ah, mine do that as well. Anything else it can do? Does it have different speeds?”

“Wait, wait, wait, stop, can we just – hold it for a moment?” Agent Fowler sputtered, holding out his hands, staring at the toy with a horrified expression. “Right, sorry, Prime, I understand that’s really personal, and no offence meant, but am I getting this right? You’re a _woman?_ Like, biologically?”

Optimus and June Darby both looked at him, the latter clicking her tongue. “William, that’s rude to ask. It’s Optimus’ decision what he identifies as.”

Ah, Optimus had found some debate about this issue online when they first arrived on Earth. “Agent Fowler, I do apologise. It did not cross my processor to make you aware of this fact. Cybertronians are not -” how was he supposed to phrase that properly? “- that is, we do not have one sex like humans do. Our internals differ quite significantly from yours, and our pronouns refer to our frametypes rather than our internals.”

“Well, that notion is somewhat outdated as well,” June Darby said dryly. “Judging from the look of this, though, you do have a penis equivalent, don’t you?”

Optimus looked at the spike and turned it off. “Yes, but -” He resigned himself to having to explain. “Physical reproduction is not a thing on Cybertron. Most of us are, however, built with certain mods that vaguely resemble human reproductive organs. They can also be added to one’s frame later on, or removed, if a bot desires as much, although it is not recommended. In times of stress, our frames tend to produce more charge than required, and the excess current can in the long run damage circuitry and cables, and even affect our processors.” He reset his vocaliser. “Therefore, it is shunted into our mod, which is designed for this precise purpose, reducing the effects on the rest of our frames. In order to get rid of the charge in the mod, it is stimulated to the point where the charge is reduced by means of one single discharge, which is called an overload.”

“Okay, alright,” Agent Fowler said, still looking disquieted. “But does that mean you have both -” he gestured at the spike replica and then, very quickly, at June Darby, who did not look impressed, “- uh, _parts?”_

“These _parts_ are generally called ‘penis’ and ‘vagina’.” She crossed her arms. “Honestly, William, how old are you?”

Agent Fowler’s face turned darker, meaning his core was heating up. Optimus thought embarrassment was the most likely cause, and had to fight to keep his own temperature low as well. Embarrassment, even if not transmitted by an EM field, was apparently catching. To pre-empt a possible fight, he quickly continued his explanation.

“Yes, I am in possession of both. I can, however, only use one of them at a time. My modification is one meant to preserve space, so I have -” Again, he was at a loss for words. “My valve doubles as my spike,” he finally said and both humans blinked at him. Optimus stopped himself from moving around in discomfort and held up the spike replica. “All of us can retract our spikes so they are protected behind our modesty panels,” he said. “However, the most common modification features a hollow spike with calipers embedded in extremely sensitive metalmesh. They can cycle wider, either to accommodate another bot’s spike or to increase the circumference of our own. Depending on the command we use during interface, the valve unfolds into our internals or alternatively out of our frames, in which case it becomes a spike.”

June Darby looked utterly fascinated. Agent Fowler mostly looked concussed.

“That is amazing, Optimus. Do Cybertronians have preferences?”

“Most do. Some who can afford it have an additional valve- or spike-only mod installed, and particularly smaller frametypes tend to prefer using their mod in spike mode, since it can be uncomfortable for them to move their internals out of the way to make space for the valve mode.” Optimus wondered if he should go into that and decided not to, for Agent Fowler’s sake, despite June Darby’s obvious curiosity. “In general, we simply refer to whichever modification we have as ‘interface equipment’, and the two different modes of use as ‘spike mode’ and ‘valve mode’.”

“Right,” Agent Fowler said, drawing a deep vent – breath. “So, uh, does this present mean you -” He stopped himself, looking horrified, and June Darby rolled her eyes. Optimus puffed out a delicate vent.

“I do not believe whoever gave me this would be aware of my preferences, as I have refrained from self-servicing since we moved into the base.”

“I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse,” Agent Fowler said and received an elbow to the ribs in time to June Darby saying, “Optimus, that is terrible! Why aren’t you?”

Optimus puffed out another vent. “Cybertronian audial receptors are more sensitive than human ears.”

“Oooh! You’re afraid the others will hear you?” she said in understanding. “Oh my. Is there a taboo connected to self-service?”

Optimus hesitated. “Not per se. I am, however, their commander, and Bumblebee in particular is still very young …”

“I get that,” she said sympathetically. “I used to be horribly afraid Jack would catch me masturbating. I couldn’t lock the bedroom door, you see, because what if he woke and came over and then found the door was locked? For some time, I used to just stop on the way to his kindergarten and get a quick orgasm in before I picked him up.” She chuckled. “Not very comfortable, I can tell you!”

Optimus tried to imagine self-servicing inside another vehicle and shuddered. “I don’t imagine it would be.”

“Well, I do hope you’ll find an opportunity to use this,” she said, grinning at the spike replica. “It would be shame if you didn’t, it looks like it’ll be a stunner.”

Optimus could not help it; he chuckled at her wording. ”I rather suspect it will be in the most literal sense of the word,” he replied, and managed to ignore Agent Fowler’s desperate groan as they started laughing.

* * *

Whether June Darby knew, her approach to the whole topic encouraged Optimus to actually follow her advice and find some privacy to try his new toy. Not at the base, though. He took his new tarp, his old mesh berth cover and went for another long drive when dusk fell to find himself a nice roomy cave. Once he had discovered one that suited his purposes (namely, it was not too easy to spot and in a location humans would find difficult to access), he crawled inside, spread his old mesh cover out on the floor (no need to scratch his new paint himself) and his new blanket over himself, mesh lining up (because he really did not want to get it dirty).

Then he found the spike replica in his subspace and let himself appreciate it properly. It was truly nice; whoever had made it (or had had it made) had probably had a real spike as a model and based it off of that. Optimus traced the almost invisible ridges and connector clusters and pushed the second button. A low, almost indiscernible hum began to thrum through the toy and a notification popped up in his HUD.

_Engage interface protocols? Y/N_

He hit _Y._

_Extend interface equipment? S/V_

Optimus shuddered slightly and replied with _V._ Immediately, he felt the minor transformations of his internals as his valve unfolded inside him and up the length of his frame. Smaller bots might dislike the sensation, but Optimus, despite his slender frame, was actually firmly on the side of using the valve mode of his equipment rather than the spike mode. It had been different when he had still been in his Orion-Pax-frame, he remembered that well, but for some reason, his preferences had changed with his frame.

And whether his Secret Santa knew, they had hit the nail on the head with this gift, inappropriate as it might be. Optimus had never owned any spike replicas – by the time he figured out that he now preferred being spiked, the war had been in full force and he could hardly ask around if someone would be willing to share their toys with him. The only bot he had felt comfortable asking to berth him had been Jazz, and with his smaller frame, Optimus was still not quite certain how much his valve could actually take. Obviously he had a pretty good idea since he could simply extend it in the other direction and then take measurements of his spike (it did not magically extent further if it was used as a valve), but that knowledge had never been put into practice.

Well, he was about to find out. The replica had approximately the same dimensions as his own spike, so it should be a tight, yet comfortable fit, and that thought alone sent a little shiver down his spinal struts. First things first, though.

Shuttering his optics, Optimus slowly traced his free servo down his chestplates, pushing his fingers underneath his windshields and playing with the wiring. Since he could mainly burn off overcharge during a fight, which also produced more, and he had had high-grade fairly recently, it only took a few tentative touches for his frame to react. His fans kicked up a notch and Optimus hummed, stroking over the spike replica with his thumb and enjoying the smooth texture. He unlocked his chestplates just enough to be able to reach inside and stroke his sparkchamber, resulting in a quick bolt of excitement, followed by an increase in warmth as his engine kicked into higher gear as well. He spent some more moments caressing his sparkchamber with the tips of his digits, then closed his chestplates once more and travelled further down, finding transformation seams and sensitive wiring on the way.

His HUD dutifully kept track of the steadily rising current and informed him that all excess current would now be re-routed to his interface equipment. Optimus hummed, then jolted a little as the charge in his now fully extended valve jumped with the sudden influx. It really was amazing, how his frame was able to make sure the current flow along his leads was kept at an acceptable level by diverting the excess to his interface equipment. Amazing and very pleasurable when one had the time to enjoy it. The connector clusters came to life, buzzing, in turn triggering the lubrication routines. Optimus writhed against the floor, thankfully protected from the roughness by the mesh sheet. His valve was sizzling and the calipers were starting to widen in preparation for a spike. Optimus knew of course that it was fully possible to enjoy valve play without any penetration happening (several Decepticon interfacing manuals had quite thoroughly broadened everyone’s horizons), it was just that he really _liked_ the slide of a spike against his connector clusters, or at least digits exploring them.

He gripped the spike replica tighter, imagining what it would feel like to push it inside, and another spike in current quickly shunted into his pleasure circuits shocked his valve, further ramping up his charge. His free servo slipped down to his modesty panel and rubbed along the seams. The panel itself was not sensitive, it was after all designed to keep damage from his interface equipment, but the seams surrounding it were. Optimus writhed against the floor again, his fans spinning audibly now as his core heated. Yes, this was nice, this was exactly what he had needed for quite some time now!

He transformed his panel away and stroked along the metalmesh that was either the entrance to his valve or the base of his spike, and was incredibly sensitive in either case. Connector density was high here, providing plenty of opportunities for someone else’s ridges and connectors clusters to touch so current could flow between the two arrays. Conducive lubricant was also gathering inside, and Optimus prodded gently at the first set of calipers, convincing them to open up and letting his digit slip inside.

His legs jerked when the tip of his digit met a connector cluster right inside. He was particularly fond of that cluster, it was easily stimulated and comparatively easy to reach. The innermost connector clusters of his equipment only became accessible when he used the spike mode, and therefore often almost too sensitive to touch. Now, though, he was in possession of something that would be able to reach that far back.

Optimus unshuttered his optics and looked the spike replica over again even as he pushed another digit inside his valve. Anticipation crawled along his plating and was quickly re-routed to his valve as well. Could he? Should he?

Oh well, it wasn’t like he couldn’t stop if he found out he was going too fast. And he did want to know what it would feel like when this entered him. Another shudder of anticipation, which was also shunted into his valve. Without thinking about it, Optimus hit the first button and the replica started vibrating. Taking a deep vent and trying to calm his rapid sparkbeat, he lowered it down to his valve, removed his digits and let the tip rest against the entrance.

Oh. _Oh!_

A deep groan left his intake as Optimus arched into the sensation. Oh, this was beautiful, sweet torture! The connector clusters on the spike, while not providing any additional charge themselves yet, still gave his own a way to ground itself, and the vibrations made sure they did so at unexpected intervals, connecting and disconnecting in a maddening rhythm that was _delicious._ What would it be like if he pressed the third button and turned on the replica’s connector clusters as well?

The sudden shock of more current being fed into his valve had Optimus arching off the floor. His charge skyrocketed, and then he managed, almost by accident, to push the replica just past the entrance and into his valve so it found to the connector cluster inside, and oh, holy Primus and the Thirteen!

Without even making a conscious decision, he pushed the replica in and in and in, more and more connector clusters finding their match, and then he moaned and shook and bucked his hips and clawed at the ground and hardly knew how to contain himself until his charge reached the critical maximum and all the built-up energy released in bright plasma arcs crawling over his plating.

Optimus fell back, his fans running fast and his vents heaving. Holy … He hadn’t overloaded like that in millennia.

Sated, content and slightly drowsy, he removed the still vibrating toy before his charge could start building back up, switching it off entirely, then simply lay and enjoyed the strut-deep relaxation a proper overload resulted in. Primus, he had really been missing out all this time, and he was so definitely doing this again soon. His processor was already lazily collecting suggestions on how to make the best use of his new toy’s special features in the future.

Optimus petted the replica affectionately before finding some cloths and cleaning liquid in his subspace to get rid of the incriminating evidence, still moving slowly and lazily as he savoured the after-effects.

He wasn’t quite sure if he still wanted to know who his Secret Santa was considering their latest gift. All the same, he sent a quiet prayer to Primus to grant them all the joy they could wish for in return for this wonderful present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I know the two-in-one thing sounds a bit weird, but you know what? I thought it’d make an interesting concept, so I just went with it. Not like it makes that much of a difference in terms of how interfacing works …


	6. Gift 6

To say that Optimus was a very happy bot when he returned to the base would have been an understatement. He was relaxed enough that he almost joined in the game of Wink Murder the next afternoon, although he caught himself before he actually did. Instead he commed Agent Fowler and retreated to one of the empty storerooms, where they set up his chess tarp and engaged in a thoroughly enjoyable game. Optimus did not even mind Agent Fowler’s initial embarrassment at seeing him again in frame for the first time after the interface-aid-incident.

Later on, he easily acquiesced when the children asked to be allowed to decorate the base with Christmas garlands. June Darby gave him a conspiratorial wink when she arrived with the garlands, and because Optimus did appreciate her unprejudiced approach to interfacing activities, he even helped hang them.

The children’s constant chatter regarding Christmas celebrations and presents did start to grate on him after a while, but once more, June Darby provided a solution by introducing his team to yet another game by way of having tucked Bumblebee’s next gift into the basket when she arrived. It was a bot-sized Cat’s Cradle, and it proved to be very effective in keeping noise levels down. Optimus found himself fascinated by the patterns produced by a simple rearrangement of string, although he did show June Darby his blanket at her request, and then went to play another game of chess against her and Agent Fowler.

Two more Earth rotations went by much in the same manner, and then Bulkhead arrived at base with Miko insisting that they all had to head out and look at the Christmas market that had been set up in Jasper. Jack and Rafael were not much inclined, protesting that they had seen it several times already and anyway, it was the same every year. Miko, however, was as stubborn as could be, and in the end, Optimus figured that an expedition to Jasper could not hurt, provided they groundbridged out and approached from a different direction than the base. (Laserbeak’s presence had left him with a heightened sense of apprehension, overload or not.) In this case, a canyon near the rock formation where his last gift had been left.

To simplify matters, Optimus offered Agent Fowler and June Darby a ride in his cab, and after visibly swallowing, Agent Fowler nodded. June Darby, already comfortably seated inside, coughed. “I think he’s still traumatised,” she whispered, and Optimus suppressed a chuckle.

“Perhaps,” he allowed, and rolled out first – which turned out to be a wise decision, because that way, he was first to spot the crate carrying his designation sitting close to the spot where June Darby’s car had broken down a few days before, too close to the road for his comfort.

Optimus put on the brakes, hating how close they were to human habitation and therefore, detection, but knowing he could not let the crate sit here long before someone would try to open it. Given the last crate’s contents, he had absolutely no desire to chance anything.

His passengers picked up on the problem immediately.

“Oh dear,” June Darby said and Agent Fowler uttered a few words Optimus was sure he would not have used in front of the children.

“Prime, what are we gonna do about it?”

The rest of his team assembled around the crate as well, creating a rather suspicious group of mismatched vehicles with even Ratchet joining them. Optimus ex-vented. “I do not like asking, Agent Fowler, but would you take a closer look at it? My scans are not returning any warnings, but …”

“Of course!” He jumped out and marched towards the crate, which reached up to his chest. Not a fearful character by default, he immediately grabbed the crate and tried to move it around.

That turned out to be surprisingly easy. He turned back to Optimus, gesturing at it. “I can easily load it unto you.”

“Please do so,” Optimus said. “I do not want to leave it here.”

“Optimus, what’s happening?” Arcee asked and he tried to determine the best way forward as Agent Fowler did as he said and climbed back into his cab.

“Continue on with the children. I will look at the contents of this crate and then join you.”

“No way, I want to know what’s in there as well!” Miko demanded, loud enough to be heard outside of Bulkhead. Optimus’ scanners informed him of several vehicles approaching them from both directions, and he quickly made a decision.

“Everyone, retreat back to the canyon. Bumblebee, keep an optic on the crate,” he ordered and drove back off into the desert as fast as he dared with his unsecured cargo. Team Prime immediately followed suit and Arcee and Bumblebee both executed a rather astonishing manoeuvre that kicked up so much dust and sand that it would be difficult to see what exactly was going on from the road. It was not perfect, but in Optimus’ experience, whoever was driving along the road would have little inclination to drive off and follow them to find out what they were up to. They reached the canyon with Arcee and Jack staying back a little to observe the road, and Bumblebee immediately transformed once safely surrounded by rock, lifting the crate off of Optimus. June Darby and Agent Fowler climbed out and Optimus transformed as well, reaching for the crate and fully intending to subspace it.

And then he noticed the little red light blinking on its bottom and realised they had triggered some sort of alarm by moving the crate from where it stood.

“Hide the humans!” he ordered immediately, even as he already heard the tell-tale sound of jet engines. His tank dropped and he cursed himself for letting down his guard. The previous crates had never contained anything dangerous or even remotely resembling a tracking device, and so he had assumed it was safe enough to simply grab this one and leave. What he had not taken into account was that all of the prior gifts addressed to him had been either left in a location that was at the same time very remote and likely to be patrolled by him in short intervals, or been actively hidden away and outfitted with a locator beacon.

This one, though, had been left along a road that was well-travelled by humans as well as Autobots, and had not been marked by a locator beacon. He could figure out what had happened easily enough: His Secret Santa had hidden this gift like the previous ones, but this time, the locator beacon signal had been discovered by a Deception. Making use of the opportunity, Megatron had removed the locator beacon, instead leaving an almost undetectable device that would alert him when the crate was moved, and then left it along a road he could be almost certain one of them was going to drive along over the course of a day.

Other than Optimus, Megatron would have had few worries about the crate being stolen and opened by curious humans. After all, he had no way of knowing what the previous crates had contained. Optimus felt his tank drop at the thought that Megatron might have opened the crate and looked at his, Optimus’, gift, might have touched it, perhaps made fun of it.

Whether he had did not matter right now, though; if he was to preserve whatever his Secret Santa had wanted to gift him with, he needed to act. There was little time left, two jets were approaching rapidly; without hesitating, Optimus opened the latch and the crate, like the previous ones, simply fell apart, only kept together by its lid.

Megatron and Soundwave transformed and landed with two loud thuds just as the entirety of Team Prime and all humans stared in surprise at the profusion of green plants that made up the crate’s contents.

“Optimus!” Megatron growled, sounding inordinately pleased. “I see we are just in time!”

June Darby and Agent Fowler lost no time in herding the children behind the bots as weapons transformed and they fell into battlestance. Megatron raised an optic ridge, neither he nor Soundwave making any move to engage their weapons.

“Not quite the reaction I expected, but I guess old habits die hard. No matter, though,” Megatron drawled, his optics flying to the destroyed crate and its contents. “Well? What is your answer, Optimus Prime?”

“My answer to what, Megatron?” Optimus kept his blasters carefully trained on him, certain that his team was aiming for Soundwave. He felt sick and disgusted at the cruelty once more displayed by Megatron. How dare he. How dare he! How dare he swap a gift chosen specifically for Optimus for some bit of foliage he had no doubt simply ripped off some unfortunate tree. “Your disgraceful actions?”

Megatron’s optics cycled wide. “My _what?”_

“You truly cannot leave anything untouched, can you?” Optimus almost snapped, exhaustion and disappointment his foremost emotions. “This crate was meant for me, and yet you opened it, removed its contents and attached a tracker to it!”

“What?” Megatron bellowed, and Optimus saw his cannon arm twitching. To his surprise, though, Megatron controlled himself. “Optimus, on my spark, I have done absolutely nothing to this crate other than fill it!“

That – actually gave Optimus some sort of peace of processor. So Megatron had figured out that someone was leaving Optimus presents, and had prepared his own version of one. That also explained the missing locator beacon. It was still a trick, but no worse than others the Decepticons and Megatron in particular had played on them in millennia past.

“In that case, you may take your case and leave,” he replied, hearing the hum of charging blasters behind him. Soundwave’s presence worried him; he could take Megatron by himself, of course, that was not the problem, but Soundwave was a formidable enemy. Also, Megatron usually left him back on the Nemesis. Why had he brought him here, now? What was he planning?

Fully expecting Megatron to reply to his words by taking his first shot at them, Optimus was most decidedly thrown off-balance when Megatron still did not power up his fusion cannon. Instead he looked _offended._ Of all things!

“I am not leaving before I have your answer! A _proper_ answer, with the reasons for your refusal stated clearly and honestly! I will not be denied that courtesy at the very least!” he growled, impatience evident in how he twitched, and Optimus processed his words twice before he spoke again.

“I do not know what game you are playing, Megatron, but we can all walk away from this with not a shot fired.”

“Do I look like I’m about to start?” Megatron snarled, _crossing his arms!_

Optimus was honestly too stunned to say anything. This had to be the longest (certainly the most unexpected) impromptu ceasefire they had had in – a millennium, at least.

“I want an answer to my question, Optimus! Or are you simply going to leave it at ‘Take your crate and leave’? Have I not even earnt the right to a proper refusal? Are you now going to shun tradition? The Prime?”

Now Optimus was sure he was missing something here. “What question, Megatron?”

Megatron looked furious at that. “What question? _What question? **What question do you think someone who is sending you courting gifts is asking?”**_

Dead silence. Even the hum of charging weapons faded. Optimus stared at Megatron, who lost patience after not even a klik and growled, “You got them, I know you did, even the one your meddling medic picked up! And I have come to demand my answer!”

“Your answer,” Optimus repeated, processor reeling, unable to reconcile the words with what his reality matrix was telling him was within the realm of possibility.

“Yes! My answer! To my courting gifts! That I gave to you!” Megatron snapped and Optimus lowered his blasters almost without noticing.

“I – you – _what?”_ It still very much did not make sense. Megatron would send Optimus poisoned energon or perhaps explosives, on a good day. On a bad day, well, he had been known to hire assassins on occasion. Optimus had convinced two of them to join the Autobots after their failed attempts on his spark.

Megatron made an impatient gesture. “By the Pit, have you glitched? Are you going to repeat everything I say now? I know you received them, Optimus, so don’t pretend ignorance! Laserbeak collected plenty of footage of you poking the crates with sticks!”

“Your -” It finally clicked. All of it. Optimus’ processor had finally dug far enough into his memory banks to bring up a protocol, a very specific protocol pertaining to the courting rituals of the gladiators in the pits in Kaon. Five gifts to be given anonymously to prove one’s worth as a partner. The last gift to be given in frame so the courted mech or femme could announce their decision.

That bit of information recovered, all threads suddenly dropped out of his processor as Optimus gawked at his worst enemy, glad that his mask protected him from being seen with his jaw hanging open. His team and the humans were catching on as well now, judging by the noises behind him, most notably Miko screeching, “He did _what?”_

“ _Your_ courting gifts,“ Optimus repeated after a moment and Megatron gave an impatient nod and pointed at the bit of foliage at Optimus’ pedes.

“For the slow of processor amongst us, to my best knowledge, you have accepted all five prior gifts. With this being the last one, I have now come to ask whether you accept my suit. And I warn you one last time, if you plan to refuse, I will have your reasons, and if I have to punch each of them out of you!”

“Wait, wait, wait, is this for real? Is Megatron asking you to _marry_ him?” Agent Fowler exclaimed, striding forward. “Prime, this is not – what the _hell_ is going on -”

“Please, Agent Fowler, let me figure this out,” Optimus interrupted and the human looked up at him and nodded.

“Fine. So. What’s going on?”

Yes, well, Optimus wasn’t quite sure how to explain either. Megatron meanwhile growled at him, but Fowler remained by Optimus’ pede, unimpressed. “I have been courting Optimus, and your opinions are of no importance on this matter, organic.”

“Optimus?” Arcee said and Optimus finally ex-vented, retracted his mask and blasters and gestured at the green stuff.

“I have recently received a number of gifts from an unknown donor,” he said quietly. “I did not mention it because I did not want to make anyone uncomfortable. Some high-grade, a tarp blanket, the paint I recently put on and the chess set you have all seen by now.” He did not mention the interface aid, that was entirely unnecessary. Also, Primus help him, was that spike replica -

Megatron interrupted his frantic processing by looked confused and saying, “You did not want to make anyone uncomfortable? Pray tell, Optimus, how would courting gifts make your pitiful excuse for an army uncomfortable?”

“I thought -” Optimus dared dart a quick glance back at his team and the other humans. “We, that means, my team and the humans, have recently been engaging in an activity called ‘Secret Santa’. It involves anonymous gifts being given to the one whose designation you have drawn from a bowl.”

Megatron did not like that answer. His optics flashed and he growled, “You have been receiving gifts from someone else? _While accepting mine?”_

“No!” Optimus protested, not wanting this to get out of servo. Any more than it already had, that was. “I didn’t join! But when your presents arrived, I thought they had maybe decided to include me nonetheless.”

Megatron was looking livid now. “You mistook _my courting gifts_ for something related to some pitiful _human game?”_

“Your timing did not exactly help, Megatron,” Optimus replied dryly, ignoring the frantic exchange of comments on the team comm channel. “Nor did the fact that you didn’t attach a designation to your gifts.”

Not that he would have accepted any of them if he had known they came from Megatron, and they both knew as much, so Megatron glared at him. “Courting gifts are traditionally given anonymously. You should know that, Optimus, with all of the wisdom of your _Primes_ inside you.”

He did, because once upon a time, Orion had prodded and poked until Megatron finally explained the mysterious appearance of various items in his quarters in the Pits, and from then on Orion had kept a close optic on whether Megatron accepted or rejected them (with the latter being expressed by putting them on the little table just inside the door, and the former by moving them to somewhere else).

“I do,” he said now, wondering how he was even supposed to have expressed rejection given where he had found his gifts. Simply leaving them be, perhaps? That would have been an unacceptable security risk, but of course, Megatron had likely not factored that in when he left them. “You will forgive me though for not expecting _you_ to court _me_ at this stage. Which begs the question of why you are.”

Megatron huffed and crossed his arms. “Why should I not?”

“Come now, Megatron, that is unworthy of you,” Optimus said archly, while his spark was almost tearing itself apart in its chamber. “You never courted anyone in all the time I have known you. You rejected all of your own suitors. Why court me, now, me who you consider your worst enemy?”

Silence fell as everyone except Soundwave stared at Megatron, waiting for an answer. Soundwave stared at Optimus, and pits if that didn’t make him uncomfortable, because Soundwave knew far more about a little archivist’s feelings for his gladiator friend than anyone else had ever been told. Had this been his idea, perhaps? Had _Soundwave_ of all mechs decided to push Megatron towards ending this war by courting Optimus in the traditional way of the gladiators?

Tense silence, then Megatron looked to the side and said, “The Iacon database. Soundwave found out that there might be a way to revive Cybertron by using the Omega Lock, but the Keys are as lost as the Allspark.”

There was only the tiniest flicker on Soundwave’s visor, but Optimus knew what it meant. “That is not all, Megatron.”

“Fine!” Megatron snapped, glaring at Optimus. “Orion Pax.”

A jolt went through him, unsettling and scary. The blanket suddenly took on a whole new meaning. “Oh,” Optimus said softly. “I forgot I was Optimus Prime.”

Megatron was glaring at him hard now. “Well? Is he still there, or has this last activation of the Matrix finally managed to purge every last bit of him from your spark?”

Optimus’ spark spun and hurt. He put a servo over it and looked back at Megatron. “Orion Pax has always been here, Megatron,” he said quietly. “I may not remember what happened on the Nemesis, but Orion Pax is here. Who ever told you otherwise?”

Megatron stared at his servo without speaking, and it was Soundwave who provided his answer. “Council: informed Megatron Orion’s spark would be destroyed by the Matrix. Only Optimus Prime would remain.”

His spark hurt even worse. “That is not true, Megatron. I am not quite Orion Pax, that is true, but I was. I remember all of it, all of our conversations.”

“Prove it,” Megatron said, still not looking him in the optics, and Optimus racked his processor for something that could prove that he indeed carried all of Orion Pax’s memories within him, just like his own. They were often a little dim and far away, but despite reformatting him, the Matrix had never changed his spark. He had once been Optimus Prime, Last of the Thirteen, and he had equally been Orion Pax, two mechs with different memories and personalities, but at spark nevertheless the same. If asked, Optimus would reply without hesitation that yes, he was Optimus Prime. He was also, still, Orion Pax. His functioning as the little archivist was something he held extremely dear and had tried to protect by not thinking too much about it, afraid the memories would get tainted by the war surrounding him.

The topic at servo provided him with the proof he sought. Optimus searched for Megatron’s optics.

“The table you used to put your rejected courting gifts on, the one right inside the door to your quarters,” he began, remembering the drab little habsuite Megatron had called his home back then, “It was always a little uneven and would easily tip over. One time when I was visiting, you found a gift underneath the covers of your berth. It was a datapad, new and quite beautiful, but you came out of your berthroom absolutely livid, telling me leaving courting gifts in the berthroom was presumptuous. Yet you couldn’t keep your optics from the datapad, and when you put it on the table, it tipped over. You dove down after it and caught it just in time, and in the process you hurt your wrist.”

Megatron was staring at him now and Optimus fought the emotions welling up. “You returned the datapad to its giver, and a deca-cycle later, I gave you one just like it as a reward for a match you had won.”

He had given it knowing full well that the openly presented gift would not be mistaken for anything but a token of friendship, and never told Megatronus that the first datapad had been from him as well. The one and only time he had gathered enough courage to attempt courting the mech he was so fascinated by, and then a stupid mishap had dashed his hopes. He had entered Megatronus’ quarters before the match, expecting to find him there, and when he did not, pulled out the datapad to find a place to leave it. Then, unexpectedly, Laserbeak had swooped inside to fetch something Megatronus had forgotten, and Orion had ducked into Megatronus’ berthroom to avoid detection. Not thinking clearly, he had pushed the datapad under the berth covers to make sure it would not be spotted even if he was discovered, and then left it there in his hurry to speak to Megatronus before the match started. He had not considered the propriety of leaving a courting gift in the courted mech’s berth, and when they returned after the match, it was too late to retrieve it. Only Soundwave had ever known about his failed attempt at courting Megatronus, because Orion had had to ask his help in retrieving the rejected datapad. He had tried to encourage Orion to give it another try, arguing that many of the other gladiators continued courting Megatronus regardless of how many times their gifts were rejected – the benefit of the whole process being anonymous –, but Orion had been too mortified, even going so far as buying another datapad and letting Megatronus have the receipt, “in case something is wrong with it”, to ensure he would never suspect.

He still had the original datapad, as a matter of fact. Or rather, Bumblebee still had it. Optimus had given it to him when all of his belongings had been lost in a Decepticon raid, glad to be able to make the little scout smile.

Megatron was looking at him oddly. “You could have heard that story from Ratchet.”

Optimus ex-vented and then looked at Soundwave, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I did not, but I can offer additional proof, Megatron. The original datapad was from me as well. Ask Soundwave. He retrieved it from that table for me.”

Megatron’s optics spiralled wide. He opened his intake, but no sound came out. Then he turned his gaze upon Soundwave, who rather smugly displayed CONFIRMED across his visor.

“Oh,” Megatron said stupidly. “Why did you put it in my _berth_ of all places?”

Optimus did his hardest to ignore the frantic whispering behind his back. “I wasn’t _planning_ to leave it there, I just _hid_ it in there so I could find a better place later. You found it before I had a chance to,” he said stiffly, his core reaching almost critical temperature. One of the few benefits of becoming Optimus Prime was that he had had to suffer almost no embarrassments since he did. The Autobot Prime did not lend himself well to being made fun of, or to be teased. Having to admit to a failure on such a personal level here, in front of his team and the humans, was certainly mortifying enough without Megatron pointing it out.

Megatron reset his optics. “Ah.”

“Besides,” Optimus continued, feeling just a tad petty, “you should really not be talking, should you? Your _courting_ gifts were hardly recognisable as such given how you decided to present them!”

Megatron puffed out his plating, glaring. “They were perfectly recognisable as courting gifts! How is it my fault you didn’t catch on? And as for delivery, how do you expect me to sneak courting gifts into your quarters when I have no knowledge of the location of your base?”

That was a fair point, still … “Since that was the case, why did you not make it clear what they were by attaching a _note?_ I remember that being common as well, although the attempts at poetry were admittedly rather painful to read.”

::Other mechs wrote _Megatron love poetry?::_ Arcee commed and behind him, three bots were suddenly valiantly fighting laughter. Megatron probably realised what they were laughing at, and his glare went up three notches.

“By their nature, as well as the order of their delivery, it was perfectly obvious that they were courting gifts! Unless you have forgotten that part of the tradition?”

“Oh, come now, Megatron -” Optimus protested and was promptly interrupted.

“Sustenance,” Megatron said, holding up one digit. Optimus refrained from sputtering, instead opting to protest further, “High-grade is hardly ‘sustenance’ -”

Megatron, of course, ignored him and continued, “Comfort.”

Alright, fair, the blanket did count as comfort.

“Intellectual challenge.”

Yes, alright, chess games were definitely an intellectual challenge. Optimus nodded grudgingly. Megatron smirked and said, “Care.”

Optimus raised an optic ridge. “Paint.”

Megatron scowled. “You looked awfully scruffy. Was I supposed to let you continue running around with all those scuffs on you?”

Optimus ex-vented audibly. “Fine. Care. Although I will point out that you also were the one to put scratches in said new paint.”

Megatron grinned once more, and Optimus then realised that the next present had been -

Oh no. Nonononono -

“Joy,” Megatron drawled, his glyphs holding unmistakable undertones of _desire, interface, satisfaction._ Optimus could just so keep his fans from turning on and gave Megatron an indignant glare as his team sputtered in the background and one of the children, bless their innocence, said, “Huh? What’s wrong with joy?”

“I believe that particular gift was out of line, Megatron!”

“Oh?” He cocked an optic ridge. “Are you going to tell me then you did not enjoy it? That would be a shame, it took me quite some time to replicate the dimensions of my spi-”

His fans spun up as Team Prime screeched in dismay in the background, drowning out the rest of Megatron’s words and no doubt confusing the children even more. June Darby, he noticed, was standing off to the side and shaking with laughter, tears running down her face. Agent Fowler was hiding his face in his hands. “Megatron, that is enough!”

Megatron smirked. “Did you or did you not?”

Optimus glared at his one-time friend and crush. “Are you seriously expecting me to admit to -” No, he would not say it. Megatron stared at him, his expression turned serious now.

“Optimus, this courtship cannot proceed unless I have proven my worth to you. That includes you accepting _all_ of my gifts. Did you or did you not?”

Optimus glanced back at his team, who were staring at him with varying expressions of disbelief, fear and curiosity. He was never going to live this down. “… yes.”

“And?” Megatron prodded and Optimus would really have preferred to be trading punches with him right now.

“Yes,” he said, almost inaudibly. “I did enjoy it.”

Megatron, to his surprise, looked relieved as well as triumphant. “Very well. The last gift. Affection.”

Optimus looked at the leafy green bit of foliage, somewhat at a loss. Megatron hmph-ed. “Aren’t you supposed to be an expert on human customs?” he growled. “And to think, here I was trying to show your strange preference for their company some consideration!”

 _“Oh!”_ June Darby said, as if only now realising something. “Optimus, it’s mistletoe!”

In the background, Jack, Rafael and Miko groaned in unison, “Ugh, no!”

Agent Fowler gawked at him, then at Megatron. “For real? Prime, uh, he’s, uhm -”

“He’s asking you for a kiss, Optimus,” June said gently. “Some human cultures have a tradition tied to mistletoe. The two people who stand underneath it have to kiss.”

“Yeah, the two people _underneath!”_ Miko called from her seat on Bulkhead’s shoulder. “That isn’t hanging anywhere, and they’re not standing underneath it! You should’ve read the instructions more carefully, buckethead!”

Megatron growled, his optics blazing, his cannon arm coming up, and Optimus did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed the mistletoe, took three quick steps, held it above Megatron’s helm and leant in to kiss him.

The hum of the cannon died away abruptly as they clashed, Megatron utterly unprepared for this kind of assault and Optimus utterly inexperienced with launching this kind of assault on Megatron.

Consequently, their first kiss was spectacularly bad. On a ‘bad first kisses’-scale from one to ten, Optimus thought a little dizzily, reeling from the collision of their helms, it was a 9.5. All that saved it from becoming a ten was Megatron having the presence of processor to stop them from falling down on top of each other.

“That,” Megatron growled once he had stabilised them, “was not what I consider a sign of affection, Optimus!”

He tried not to ex-vent audibly in relief at the averted crisis. If they were really going to proceed with this courtship, he and Megatron would have to have a few very serious talks about fusion cannons and their use around human beings. “Then demonstrate what you consider to be one.”

Megatron’s optics blazed with the challenge, as Optimus had known they would, and he glanced up at where Optimus was still somehow holding the mistletoe above their helms. “If you insist,” he purred and moved in.

And on a ‘best second kisses’-scale from one to ten, this was definitely a ten. Tender and gentle and spiced with a nip of sharp denta, and it was nothing like what Optimus had ever thought Megatron capable of.

His fans spun up again and his servo with the mistletoe fell limply to his side. Megatron smirked against his mouth. “Convinced?”

“I, that depends.” Alright, maybe Optimus had a few problems cycling air through his vents right now. “Was this a preview of what it will be like berthing you?”

Red optics narrowed. “Worried I’ll chain you to my berth and take what I want from your frame if you accept, Optimus?”

He met the gaze, serious. “Yes.”

Megatron glared, then looked to the side. “‘Care’ and ‘comfort’, Optimus. I already promised to provide those to you. Chaining you to my berth and hurting you rather runs contradictory to those promises, unless you wish for me to do so.”

Optimus gave himself a few moments to turn this over in his processor and reached the conclusion that yes, Megatron had promised as much. Of course, promises could be broken, but if there was even a shred of the gladiator he once knew left in Megatron, it would be out of the question. Such promises were not lightly given. Especially not amongst the gladiators. Emotional attachment of the kind a proper gladiator courtship promised had been the equivalent of higher-caste bots becoming conjunx endurae.

Still …

Optimus looked to the side, to Soundwave, and wondered if he would step in should Megatron break his courting oaths. Soundwave’s visor did not show anything, but he played a sound clip of Optimus himself. “I promise,” his voice said and Optimus nodded at him.

“Thank you,” he said and turned to Megatron, who had watched the exchange intently. “Megatron of Kaon, I accept your suit.”

“What?” Arcee exclaimed in the background, but Optimus held Megatron’s optics.

“On condition that you leave this planet and its inhabitants alone,” he added. Megatron narrowed his optics again.

“The Decepticons will refrain from attacking them on purpose, but we still need to find the Omega Keys and mine energon. Do not delude yourself, Optimus. Retrieving Orion Pax may have been one objective, but I will not forego the chance to revive Cybertron.”

Optimus nodded. “If either is done without harm to this planet or the humans, the conditions are acceptable.”

Megatron was smirking again. “I believe that can be arranged. So, does this mean I may take you back to the Nemesis now and present you to my troops as my future conjunx?”

Optimus huffed out a little amused vent. “It means that you may accompany us back to our base and we will contact Agent Fowler’s superiors to inform them of the change in situation.”

“Optimus, you can’t be serious!” Ratchet exclaimed as Agent Fowler said, “Uh, not sure how this’ll go down, Prime -”

“Conjunxing Megatron? What are you thinking of?” Ratchet easily drowned him out.

“I am not. Not yet,” Optimus replied, keeping his optics on Megatron, who looked more smug than he had any right to be, and also a tad nervous. Which more than anything else convinced Optimus that he was serious about this. If he had learnt one thing about Megatron, it was that nervousness was not part of the package when he smoothly lied to get his way. “I shall conjunx Megatron when a proper peace treaty has been drawn up, Cybertron has been revived and we have established a better system for our society. I expect we will not be conjunxed for some stellar cycles to come yet.” He turned his helm and smiled at his friend. “As for what am I thinking of, what I always have been thinking of: Peace.”

“He’ll stab you in the back the moment you turn it on him!” Ratchet bellowed, bristling with anger. “Gladiator courting customs, my aft! How do you know he’ll keep those promises?”

Megatron bristled as well, now, but it was Soundwave who stepped in. “Ratchet: insulting Megatron’s intentions. Soundwave: seconds Megatron’s proposal. Soundwave: required to offline Megatron if Megatron breaks any courting promise.”

It was possibly the longest any of the others had ever heard Soundwave ‘speak’, and they were clearly reeling from it.

“Uhm,” Bulkhead said. “Uh, if he says so?”

“Does Soundwave even stand a chance against Megatron?” Arcee said suspiciously and Megatron barked out a laugh.

“Soundwave is the only gladiator who ever survived a death match against me, two-wheeler! If anyone but Optimus can deactivate me, it is him!”

“That is true,” Ratchet confirmed, looking at Soundwave thoughtfully. “I remember that match taking place. It was on the news for three rotational cycles.”

There was a moment of silence as they all looked at each other. Even Miko did not make a sound. Optimus, for his share, was uncomfortable – he knew he was on thin ice here. If Megatron did break his promises, any of them, he would likely catch Optimus unawares with how things stood between them. And yet, he could not forego this chance.

June Darby broke the silence by shrugging and ex-venting audibly. “Well, not the first time in history peace has been made by marriage,” she said dryly. “All things considered, it worked fairly well in most cases, didn’t it? And I have to hand it to you, Megatron, you did put a lot of thought into Optimus’ gifts. Questionable as one of them may have been.”

Megatron wrapped an arm around Optimus’ waist and pulled him close, smirking. “The most worthy opponent I have ever had deserved nothing less.” His burning red optics turned to Optimus and he saw unspoken longing in there. “And so does Orion Pax.”

There was another request in there, a question. Optimus stopped venting for a moment, uncertainty coursing through him. After all that had happened, after all the time he had spent hiding behind the façade of a Prime, would he be able to let Orion Pax show through once again?

His digits tightened on the mistletoe he still held, and he found himself smiling, just a little. Maybe, possibly, if there was peace, if he did not need to be Optimus Prime every moment of every solar cycle any longer, it would not be so bad to act more like Orion Pax once more. He gently bumped his helm against Megatron’s, catching the hitch in his vents.

“Yes. He does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is dedicated to a meta-discussion of the story by me, so thank you all for reading, commenting and leaving kudos, and for those of you reading on, enjoy – to everyone else, see you elsewhere, hopefully!


	7. Extensive Author’s Notes and Thoughts on the Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a meta-discussion of the story by the author. If you aren’t interested, feel free to skip this entirely, and thank you for reading and/or leaving kudos/comments!

This chapter contains the almost-obligatory-for-me discussion of some of the choices I made while writing and more in-depth discussions of some of the characters’ actions which, for one reason or the other, did not get as much space in the story itself as I might have wished. For those of you who are interested, enjoy yourselves and please also note that when I discuss tropes or actions you have commented on, any potential critical words in no way reflect my opinion on you as my readers or your comments, all of which I appreciate immensely :-)

Instead, please know that I trained as a literary scholar and at this stage, I can’t turn it off any longer. I analyse everything and anything to death, including my own stories and the actions of the characters I write, since a great sticking point in stories for me is whether character actions are believable. The other great interest is how readers react to certain tropes, characters and actions, and which explanations they find for a character’s actions. Actually, the great beauty of fanfiction for me is that it gives fans the freedom to explore characters and _make sense_ of their actions in canon in their own way.

Unfortunately, the more scholarly inclined side of me has this bad habit of also wanting to write a whole essay about it and how it worked out in the story. So here is my meta-discussion of _Secret Santa, gladiator-style_.

As I mentioned, originally I wanted to write something short, nice and without much of a plot simply so I could get something finished while waiting for my writer’s block for other stories to pass. As to how and why I hit upon the idea of the Autobots doing a Secret Santa and Megatron having impeccably bad timing in the flipping middle of June, that is a question I really cannot answer …

Now, originally I had inteded for Megatron to pick up on what was going on at the Autobot base, maybe via Laserbeak recording a conversation between one of the kids and their Autobot, and deciding that Optimus should get presents as well. I was toying with a few ideas, and then I asked my husband about Secret Santa gifts, since it isn’t really a thing where I was raised, and he mentioned sex toys as a really inappropriate gift.

I had already planned to have Megatron give Optimus a vibrator modelled on his own spike anyway, but somehow, the fact that my husband listed that as the very first item on the list of inappropriate Secret Santa gifts had the whole thing somehow progressing from simple gifts to Megatron actively wooing Optimus with Optimus being utterly clueless despite theoretically _knowing_ gladiatorial courting customs. And then, of course, it again spiralled into something more complex from there. Although the whole idea of the suitor having to prove their suitability by providing gifts chosen to represent sustenance, comfort, intellectual challenge, care, joy and affection is built around the presents I came up with instead of the other way ’round, I then thought it would make perfect sense in a subculture centred so much around violence and power that a courting bot would have to prove their abilities in sustaining an emotional relationship by proffering gifts symbolising their promise to provide the softer, gentler side of things to their future spouse.

Besides that story-related reasoning, I kind of also wanted to have Optimus admitting that he was using a model of Megatron’s spike to self-service in front of his team and the adult humans, with the kids being left in the dark XD And I wanted to utterly embarrass Optimus by forcing him to explain to his human allies (well, the adult ones, anyway) that yes, Cybertronians have sex and they masturbate, and yes, they are quite familiar with the concept of vibrators, because I thought, seriously, this would make June Darby’s day. (It would certainly make mine. Talk about projecting.)

Less well-designed or explained is the reason behind Megatron’s decision to court Optimus. Frankly, that is possibly the flimsiest pretext for intrinsic motivation of a character I have ever come up with in a fictional story, so the less said about that, the better. Seeing as I am working on other stories going into the whole nitty-gritty of Megatron’s possible motivations, though, I just didn’t have the patience to get into it here. It wasn’t the point, either. The point was giving Optimus a good time (with a replica of Megatron’s spike) and a reason to get out of bed every day besides “If I don’t, Megatron’ll probably blow up this planet”. In a similar vein, I also wanted to give the rest of Team Prime a break, and June Darby introducing them to children’s games seemed like something that could help. Given that in canon, Cybertronians are built and have basically no equivalent to a childhood, I figured it couldn’t hurt for them to be introduced to activities that serve literally no other purpose than having fun. (I am aware of the importance of children’s games for their future skills in social interaction, but let’s face it, that’s not why children play them. They play them because they’re _fun.)_ Also, I kept sniggering at the mental image of Bumblebee, Arcee and Bulkhead hopping on one leg through the base and some poor geologist 500 miles away staring at his seismograph in utter panic and confusion, because _what the hell?_

So interestingly enough, I didn’t put quite as much thought into intrinsic character motivation in this story as I usually do, at least not where Megatron is concerned. I did, however, put quite a lot of thought into why Optimus is so bloody slow to figure things out.

**Why doesn’t Optimus suspect?**

Yes, for me, that is really the million-dollar-question and the crucial point of suspension of disbelief in this story: Why doesn’t Optimus even suspect that the Decepticons and Megatron might be involved? And is he just being Oblivious Prime, or am I writing it because it’s convenient and the story wouldn’t work otherwise?

Let’s be honest, lots of stories work on the premise that protagonists are slow on the uptake and I think that can certainly be overdone (and often will be overdone to the point where it really makes characters look stupid). I also think there are two sides to this. You as readers and I as the author of course know that Megatron is behind all of this and therefore shake our heads at Optimus’ perceived blindness. That’s also kind of the point, I want for you to be entertained and amused by what I’ve written, and if I wanted to keep you guessing at the identity of Optimus’ Secret Santa, I wouldn’t have chosen the tags I did, because, let’s be honest, they’re a dead give-away. If I had really wanted to make it a mystery, I would also have written it in a different way, for example by having Optimus ponder which of his team members is most likely to have given him a particular gift.

I didn’t, again because this was supposed to be short and simple and also, I didn’t have the patience. That, however, begs the question of whether Optimus is still acting within acceptable parameters or whether I just made him extra-slow on the uptake, because yeah.

Let’s get down to Optimus’ level then, and look at things from his perspective. He, other than us, doesn’t have the advantage of tags being attached to what is happening. He has to work this mystery out based on what is known to him. But what exactly is happening?

Well, all things considered, not much. Someone is leaving presents for him in locations he is either sure to patrol in regular intervals, or just far enough out of his reach that he can find them by following a locator beacon signal, which will give his mysterious benefactor time enough to get away.

Which, theoretically, gives him with quite a few suspects. Obviously he can discount most of the Decepticon soldiers on the Nemesis, because how are they going to pull this off? And how would they acquire these gifts? Given the locations where the presents are left, a groundbridge will certainly come in handy, and so will detailed knowledge of Optimus’ routines as well as his interests and preferences. The command staff aboard the Nemsis and his own team fit those criteria nicely, so why does he discount the possibility of Decepticon involvement so early on, already in chapter 2?

Well …

The important premise underlying pretty much all of Optimus’ actions and his continued ignorance in this fic is that Megatron has little interest in a peaceful solution of their conflict, and certainly no interest in Optimus as a potential romantic partner, this being set sometime after the Orion-Pax-arc and before Smokescreen joins the team. I cannot stress how important that premise is for this story to work, because here’s the thing: There are things in life that we just consider to be improbable and/or impossible. For example, based on what I know about myself, I would be very, very surprised if I found myself swept up in a whirlwind romance with a famous actor/musician, and the probability of meeting one has little bearing on why I consider that to be an improbable event. All the same, can I tell this will happen in a story? Of course I can. I’m sufficiently familiar with the genre, and AO3 has the added benefit of tags being provided, so I can already guess at the content of a story before I’ve even read the blurb. But my life bears very little resemblance to a story on AO3, generally speaking. And Optimus, as far as he can tell, is not a character in a story either. Optimus is a real, living mechanism who has been fighting Megatron for millennia, who knows that Megatron has never shown any interest in finding a partner (chapter 6), and who is intimately familiar with Megatron’s intense dislike of his person in particular. His probability calculations for Megatron – for all he knows out of the blue – starting to court him, and that happening at the exact point in time when his team is engaged in Secret Santa, will tell him that there’s a one-in-ten-billions chance of that happening.

For us, as readers, it’s crystal clear, because that’s one of the reasons we read romances. Because we know that one-in-ten-billions thing will happen.

Optimus? He doesn’t know it will, and because he doesn’t know he’s a character in a story that I have written because I wanted to watch him kiss Megatron underneath a mistletoe (and embarrass him with a replica of Megatron’s spike), he doesn’t believe it probable or possible. (That being the other side of the coin that at times annoys me even more than characters being slow on the uptake: When characters simply go like, “hey, yeah, sure, that makes complete sense that xyz would fall in love with me!”, when really, if you look at the story not as a story following genre conventions, but as a world in itself and the characters as real people, it doesn’t make sense _at all.)_

So as far as Optimus is concerned, Megatron is out to kill all Autobots or at least Optimus. Why would he then suspect Megatron of attempting to woo him? It doesn’t make sense! Like UnknownXeno said in their comment, all they’ve so far had between them was a ton of sexual tension and a war – a very apt description.

However, even if Optimus doesn’t discount the possibility of Megatron being behind this at first, he has very, very good reasons to convince himself to the best of his abilities that Megatron _cannot_ be his Secret Santa. Because Optimus’ main job is to keep his team safe and win this war – he cannot afford dreaming of Megatron courting him. And for that reason as well, he interprets the facts he has at his disposal to bolster his conviction that his team is acting as his Secret Santa.

Fun fact: He isn’t even wrong in doing so, or willfully ignorant, because it’s hardly a secret that the Decepticons are actively searching for the Autobot base, so encountering Laserbeak anywhere around Jasper spying on them is hardly a surprise and has happened before without any mysterious presents appearing. Why would Optimus therefore connect those two events? He hasn’t noticed Laserbeak being around the other presents, so this could be a one-time fluke.

Similarly, he has no more reason to assume that Megatron is in possession of a Cybertronian blanket, high-grade and proper paint than he has to assume one of his bots owned these items and somehow managed to re-create the paint. Even more so if they are all working together, including Wheeljack, who may have god-knows-what on the Jackhammer (it isn’t like Optimus asked for an inventory). And once we get to the chess set, I don’t think I need to expound on just why Optimus doesn’t think this is something Megatron would even consider as a gift.

Following the principle of Ockham’s Razor, that the simplest solution to a problem that still manages to explain all aspects of the problem logically, is to be preferred at all times, Optimus chooses to settle on his team as his Secret Santa. What he fails to realise at that point in time is that the simple solution he has found fails to consider other explanations which result in an equally simple solution _provided Optimus changes the underlying premise._ Case in point, he encounters Laserbeak _before_ he picks up on the signal. His mistake does not lie in discounting the possibility that Laserbeak might have delivered the present to its location. His mistake is that he considers it _more likely_ that his team, almost all of whom have passed that particular spot earlier, have left the present there. Because his team, from his point of view, have intrinsic motivation to give him things he might take joy in, what you could call a good reason for doing it at this point in time (the Secret Santa), and opportunity.

Megatron, on the other hand, lacks intrinsic motivation (he hates Optimus, and people who hate you usually don’t try to make you happy) and opportunity (Optimus has not spotted Laserbeak on the other occasions, and has no idea how well Megatron knows his habits regarding favourite driving routes etc.), and most of all, it is infinitely more complicated for Megatron to arrange all of this. Because even if Optimus changed the basic premise he is working on, and accepted that Megatron might have shifted his preferences from killing him to banging him, pulling it off requires quite a bit of planning on Megatron’s side. He had to figure out where Optimus likes to drive; he had to know Optimus was stargazing at that particular spot on that particular evening; he had to know Optimus was going to drive into Jasper that evening. Let’s face it, that is much more of a stretch for Optimus to believe than that his team is doing all of that (and actually, when you think about it, the greater challenge for suspension of disbelief regarding this story), because they already have access to all that information. They know his favourite driving route and they can easily determine his position at any point in time via the console back at the base. It wouldn’t have taken much work for them to find his secret stargazing spot, or to figure out he had changed his plans on the evening Laserbeak showed up, because their tracking system would show them that. For Megatron, it is much more of a gamble, and it goes awry when Ratchet finds the paint instead of Optimus. Technically a great hint that this isn’t Team Prime’s work; but even that could have been on purpose and arranged that way so Optimus doesn’t get a chance to hide the paint instead of putting it on – which, if no-one knew about it, is just as likely to happen as him using it.

Again, however, Optimus is working based on an erraneous assumption, namely that he is meant to find the gifts himself. However, considering Megatron’s limited options in delivering them, and despite the no doubt extensive use he made of Soundwave and Laserbeak’s abilities, there is probably a reason why most of them are hidden away in crates and carry Optimus’ name. Megatron is willing to compromise on the method of delivery if it ensures the gifts will be delivered. Also, note that the third gift shows up in the same spot as the first one – Megatron knows Optimus has found the first one there, so he leaves another in the same spot, rightly assuming that Optimus is likely to pass through there again.

The last thing I will say is that even if Optimus gave him the benefit of the doubt, Megatron is courting him based on a custom that Orion Pax wasn’t even familiar with before he met Megatronus. I think it’s perfectly understandable that the gladiatorial courtship customs don’t immediately spring to mind when he’s already dealing with another unfamiliar cultural custom that literally works in the exact same way. From experience mainly derived from being married to someone with a different cultural background and living abroad pretty much all of my adult life, I can assure you, stuff like that is incredibly confusing.

Yes, Optimus is slow on the uptake, as common in these types of stories. It’s practically a staple tool of romantic comedies. What is more important for me, though, is that he is slow on the uptake because he has a perfectly valid alternative explanation that ticks all of the boxes and has the benefit of being more likely – which is not always a given, and that in turn is what makes characters look excessively stupid in my opinion. I happily accept a character reaching all the wrong conclusions because they are working with a faulty hypothesis in the first place; I have more trouble accepting it if they have no logical alternative explanation at all. Therefore, it was really important to me to give Optimus plenty of room to reach his wrong conclusions about his suitor’s identity – that is pretty much the whole justification for why the team is doing a Secret Santa at the same time. If I hadn’t introduced that, the story would not have worked for me, whether as an author or a reader. I had to give Optimus some valid alternative explanation so he could get things all wrong until the final chapter.

So as much as I love the expression “Oblivious Prime” and use it in connection with this story, I think Optimus isn’t being all that oblivious here. He is trying to solve the riddle based on a set of erraneous assumptions, which still provide him with a logical, consistent explanation as for why things are happening the way they are. In order to figure out the truth, Optimus would have to accept a premise that runs completely contradictory to the one he has based his actions of the last few millennia on – and the first indication he has that Megatron has changed his mind about him is when Megatron turns up to demand his answer. And that is too late for Optimus to prepare, so it takes him completely by surprise.

Megatron, on the other hand, was lacking the piece of information that Secret Santa was happening. So he fully expected Optimus to already have caught on, at the latest when he commented on the new paint. Because from Megatron’s point of view, it was just as obvious that he was the anonymous suitor as it was to you as the readers.

**Cybertronian interface equipment**

On to a completely different topic: The concept of interfacing equipment in this fic, and the two-in-one solution. For some reason, when I started reading Transformers fanfiction a while ago, I almost immediately began comparing the descriptions of their naughty bits. While I really love the idea of Cybertronians being able to have sex in various different ways, and being in possession of various types of interface equipment, as far as valves and spikes are concerned, I kept wondering why almost everyone seems to go with them having both, as in, two separate pieces of equipment.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like that. I just also looked at their frames and wondered, where do they tuck these bits away when they’re not in use (Optimus and Arcee especially)? Spikes always pressurise, whereas valves simply seem to exist inside a Cybertronian without doing much else but stretch when a spike is added to the equation. And that, frankly, sounded a tad strange to me, because why would they only be able to fold one piece of equipment away, but not the other? Especially since a valve/vagina, excuse my French, well, it’s hollow by default! If spikes and valves correspond to penises and vaginas (which they do at least in function and mostly in design), I imagine it would be much more difficult to fold up a spike than it would be to compress a valve.

Seeing as we’re talking about transforming robots, I then started playing with the idea of spikes and valves simply being two possible modes of the same piece of equipment (because darn, one is made to fit inside the other!), and having to be specifically activated when interface is on the horizon. I don’t know, it just makes a lot of sense to me that valves could shrink in the same way a spike can, and if that is the case, couldn’t the whole distinction be in which direction the whole thing pressurises?

So yeah, that’s what got you a bunch of transforming robots with a piece of interface equipment that transforms into spike or valve according to what its owner wants it to do. I don’t know if I’m going to use that idea in other stories as well, because I’m not entirely sure what I think of the whole concept either, but well XD It makes sense to me.

**Overloads for everyone!**

The last detail of this story I want to mention, because it caused me quite some headache, is how their interface equipment is used. And as much fun as Optimus had with his overload, I had much less fun writing it, because for some reason, I got it into my head that I wanted to describe it as accurately as I could in terms of what is happening with the electricity involved. Honestly, I’m pretty sure I failed spectacularly, although I’ll have to leave the final evaluation up to people better than me at understanding the basics of electrical engineering. I will, however, happily receive feedback on that, because my description mostly draws on what bits and pieces I remember from school and what I figured out by consulting Wikipedia, and since I did that at about 3am, I expect the results will be questionable at best and completely and utterly ridiculous at worst … My sincere apologies to those of you who actually have a clue about electronics and read those particular bits either laughing yourselves sick or harbouring an intense desire to strangle me.

Nonetheless, the reading-up-on-stuff part was fun until I got to the writing part and then realised that I had to develop at least some basic concept of what would be happening in a Cybertronian frame on the way to and during overload XD Frankly, it did not sound pleasurable at all in my head. As a matter of fact, I’m still not quite sure how something that is likely to kill any household applicance stone-dead would feel great.

The idea that interface mods are simply something meant to reduce excess current is mostly likely inspired at least in part by Astolat’s Project Bang. Most likely because I can’t say with certainty given how much fanfic I have read, but that’s the one that comes to mind first. Also, I totally sympathise with her comment at the beginning, the “yeah, but why?”, and my answer is that Cybertronians don’t experience arousal in quite the same way as humans do. Their interface mods are literally fall-back circuits designed to accept a huge amount of excess current that the bot cannot get rid of by grounding themselves in another way, so their charge in the mod would build over time, depending on how stressed out they are and how much excess is shunted in there. Days, weeks, perhaps even months if they aren’t exposed to many stressful situations. It can certainly be ramped up directly by connecting external sources to a spike/valve, and I have no doubt that they do that (because fun), too, but in the first instance it’s a safeguarding mechanism to keep the rest of their frames from overcharging. Again, I’m almost certain someone familiar with electrical engineering will tell me that this isn’t how it could work, but well, I’m calling creative licence on this one XD

Also, since fighting causes stress and therefore, excess current flow, this model basically renders it impossible for Megatron and Optimus to stay unaroused while they’re fighting. You’re welcome ;-P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that that’s done, many thanks to my mostly-patient and definitely long-suffering husband, who to his credit did not do an Agent Fowler and didn’t bat an eyelid when interrogated about inappropriate Secret-Santa-gifts over dinner … without any explanation as to why the topic was being brought up.


End file.
